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PACIFIC  SHORES 
FROM  PANAMA 

ERNEST  PEIXOTTO 


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10 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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€r.,^t  fj^ctto^nn,,!  ■'■■'■■■■■■' ^•^"^••- "■ \ 


BOOKS    BY    ERNEST    PEIXOTTO 

PUBLISHED     BY     CHARLES     SCRIBNER'S     SONS 


EACH  VOLUME   ILLUSTRATED   BY  THE   AUTHOR 

PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA. 

(Postage  extra)    net,  $2.50 

BY  ITALIAN  SEAS net.    2.50 

THROUGH  THE  FRENCH  PROVINCES,    nel,     2.50 

ROMANTIC  CALIFORNIA net.     2.50 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 


Plaza,  San  Francisco,  Lima 


PACIFIC    SHORES 
FROM    PANAMA 


BY 


ERNEST  PEIXOTTO 


ILLUSTRATIONS    BY  THE   AUTHOR 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

MCMXIII 


Copyright,  1913,  by 
Charles    Scribner's    Sons 


Published  October,  1913 


r"- 


r 


PREFACE 

Spanish  America  of  the  Pacific  still  remains  one  of 
the  few  countries  undiscovered  by  the  tourist.  The 
few  foreigners  who  use  the  steamers  that  slowly 
meander  up  and  down  its  coast  are  for  the  most  part 
commercial  travellers,  mining  engineers,  or  a  stray 
missionary  or  archaeologist.  The  few  books  that 
have  been  written  about  it — and  they  are  very  few 
indeed — deal  with  the  region  from  one  or  the  other 
of  these  view-points. 

But  no  book  that  I  have  been  able  to  find  treats 
of  it  as  a  journey  of  recreation,  a  quest  for  the  knowl- 
edge usually  to  be  obtained  by  travel.  Yet  viewed 
from  this  stand-point  alone,  it  is  a  truly  fascinating 
voyage.  The  luxurious  indolence  that  possesses  the 
traveller  as  he  glides  over  this  lazy  tropical  sea,  the 
romance  of  the  Spanish  cities,  the  picturesqueness 
and  the  appeal  of  its  vast  Indian  population,  the 
desolation  of  its  arid  wastes,  the  dizzy  heights  of  its 
Cordillera,  the  sharp  contrast  of  chmate  and  vegeta- 
tion— where  equatorial  tropics  and  eternal  snows  are 


LORKKI 


PREFACE 

often  but  a  few  hours  apart — all  these  make  up  a 
journey,  the  fascination  of  which  can  scarcely  be 
overstated.  And  it  is  my  belief  that  with  the  open- 
ing of  the  Panama  Canal  this  West  Coast  will  be- 
come a  favourite  winter  cruise  for  the  people  of  our 
hemisphere. 

Living,  outside  of  the  larger  cities,  is  primitive,  to 
be  sure.  But  where  is  the  seasoned  traveller  who 
would  let  that  deter  his  ardour.^  And  even  as  it  is 
the  hotels  are  no  better  and  no  worse  than  they  are 
in  towns  of  the  same  relative  importance  in  Italy  or 
Spain.  The  railroads  are  well  equipped  for  the  most 
part  with  American  rolling-stock,  the  people  cour- 
teous, kind,  and  well-disposed  toward  the  stranger — • 
if  he  will  but  meet  them  half-way. 

To  properly  appreciate  the  voyage  one  must  have 
a  taste  for  the  novel  and  the  un travelled;  one  must 
have  an  eye  for  the  picturesque;  and,  above  all,  one 
must  have  read  up  the  old  Spanish  chroniclers  or  at 
least  Prescott's  "Conquest  of  Peru,"  that  still  re- 
mains the  vade-mecum  of  the  traveller  in  the  Andes. 
How  strange,  how  wonderful  that  this  bhnd  his- 
torian, sitting  in  his  library  in  Cambridge,  could 
have  grasped  with  such  accuracy  a  country  he  had 


VI 


PREFACE 

never  seen,  describing  its  mountain  fastnesses,  its 
tropical  valleys,  the  romance  of  its  old  Inca  civilisa- 
tion, and  the  ardour  of  its  Spanish  conquerors  as  no 
one  has  been  able  to  do  before  or  since! 

To  those  who  wish  to  pursue  the  subject  further, 
I  would  suggest  a  perusal  of  the  original  story  of  the 
Conquest  by  Xeres,  Pizarro's  own  secretary,  and  the 
Commentaries  of  Oviedo  and  Herrera,  and  the  poetic, 
if  sometimes  exaggerated,  accounts  of  Garcilasso  de 
la  Vega. 

I  wish  to  express  my  sincerest  thanks  to  the 
officials  and  captains  of  the  Royal  Mail  Steam  Packet 
Company,  the  Compania  Sud-Americana  de  Vapores, 
and  the  Pacific  Mail  Steamship  Company,  for  their 
many  kindnesses  and  courtesies;  to  the  Peruvian 
Corporation,  especially  to  its  representative  in  Lima, 
Mr.  W.  L.  Morkill,  aptly  called  the  "King  of  Peru," 
for  the  exceptional  opportunities  he  gave  us  to  see 
out-of-the-way  places  and  interesting  festivals  with 
the  comfort  of  a  private  car,  and  to  the  new-found 
friends  in  general  who  taught  us  what  hospitality 
could  mean  to  the  stranger  in  a  strange  land. 

E.  R 

JunCy  1913. 

vii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

TO  THE  SPANISH  MAIN 1 

PANAMA 17 

DOWN  THE  WEST  COAST  TO  PERU 37 

LmA,  CITY  OF  THE  KINGS       57 

THE  OROYA  RAILWAY— 

I.  To  THE  Roof  of  the  World 79 

II.  Xauxa  and  Huancayo 87 

SOUTHERN  PERU— 

I.  A  Coast  Hacienda 103 

n.  To  Arequipa 116 

LA  VILLA  HERMOSA 125 

THE  LAND  OF  THE  INCAS 137 

CUZCO,  THE  INCA  CAPITAL 159 

LAKE  TITICACA 193 

A  GLIMPSE  OF  BOLIVIA 203 

ix 


PAGE 


CONTENTS 

THE  RETURN  TO  PANAI\L\ 227 

FROM  THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE— 

I.  In  Central  American  Waters 235 

II.  Guatemala  and  Its  Capital 247 

in.  Coast  Towns  of  Mexico 269 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Plaza  of  San  Francisco,  Lima Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Royal  Palms,  Nipe  Bay,  Cuba 7 

Negroes  selling  "Rope  Tobacco"  Kingston,  Jamaica     ....  13 

The  Cathedral,  Panama 25 

Avenida  Central,  Panama 29 

The  Old  Bells  at  Cruces 31 

Ruins  of  Old  Panama 33 

Native  Boats,  Paita 45 

A  Grated  Veranda,  Salaverry 52 

The  Aguador  Peddles  His  Donkey-Load  of  Water    .      .     facing  52 

"Balcones,"  Lima •     •  CI 

Lima  Cathedral  from  the  Bodegones facing  62 

In  the  President's  Garden 65 

Cloister  of  San  Francisco,  Lima 69 

xi 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGB 

Patio  of  the  Torre  Tagle  Palace,  Lima facing  70 

Weighing-Post  in  the  Torre  Tagle  Palace 73 

On  the  Oroya  Railway facing  80 

The  Narrow  River  Valley  Like  a  Relief  Map       .     .     .     facing  82 

Entrance  to  a  Corral,  Oroj-a 89 

The  Plaza,  Xauxa 91 

A  Native  Family,  Huancayo 94 

Corner  of  the  Indian  Market,  Huancayo 95 

Landing  at  Cerro  Azul facing  104 

Bull  Ring  in  the  Canete  Valley 113 

Hacienda  of  Unanue 114 

The  Carrito  and  Its  Galloping  Mule facing  114 

The  Port,  Mollendo 119 

Nearing  Arequipa facing  122 

The  Cathedral  from  the  Mercaderes    . 128 

The  Cathedral  and  Chachani facing  130 

Court  of  a  Residence facing  132 

Church  of  La  Companfa 133 

Arequipa  from  the  Bridge  across  the  Chili facing  134 

Entrance  to  the  Old  Bishop's  Palace 135 

Pottery  Vendors,  Puchara 145 

At  the  Top  of  the  Pass,  La  Raya facing  14C 

The  Llama  Trains  Were  Already  Arriving   ........  148 

Corner  of  the  Market,  Sicuani    .........     facing  150 

xii 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


FAGE 


Urcos facing  15i 

General  View  of  Cuzco 163 

Old  View  of  Cuzco  after  Ramusio's  Woodcut 167 

Arco  di  Sta.  Clara,  Cuzco 169 

Inca  Rocca's  Palace facing  170 

Old  Stone  Model  of  Sachsahuaman 174 

Sachsahuaman facing  174 

Apse  of  Santo  Domingo  Built  upon  the  Temple  of  the  Sun     .     .  176 

Inca  Stone  Representing  a  Plan  of  the  Temple  of  the  Sun       .     .  178 

Plaza  and  Church  of  the  Compania,  Cuzco 181 

Line  the  Arcades  of  the  Plaza  with  Their  Gaudy  Wares     .     .     .  187 

The  Steep,  Picturesque  Streets  that  Climb  the  Hills       ....  189 

Juliaca 196 

A  Balsa  on  Lake  Titicaca facing  200 

Ruins  of  Tiahuanaco 206 

Stone  Image,  Tiahuanaco 209 

A  Llama  Train  on  the  Bolivian  Highlands facing  214 

La  Paz  from  the  Alto facing  216 

Streets  Plunge  Down  One  Hill  Only  to  Ascend  Another     .     .     .  217 

Old  Courtyard,  La  Paz 219 

Group  at  the  Market,  La  Paz facing  220 

An  Aymara  Musician 224 

In  the  Obrajes  Valley facing  224 

The  Plaza,  Puno 230 

xiii 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


Watching  the  Lanchas       .     .     , 238 

The  Mole,  La  Libertad 240 

Sonsonate facing  244 

Ploughing  on  Agua 249 

The  Calvario,  Guatemala  City 255 

Cathedral  Terrace,  Guatemala  City 256 

A  Marimbero 257 

Indian  Women 258 

Huts  in  the  Jungle 262 

A  Bullock  Wagon,  Salina  Cruz 271 

Its  Streets  of  Dazzling  Colonnades 276 

Market  Square,  Acapulco facing  276 

An  Outlying  Street,  Acapulco 277 

Manzanillo  Bay 279 

A  Tiny  Pearl  of  the  Tropics 280 

Old  Church,  San  Bias 281 

Loading  Barges,  San  Bias 283 


XIV 


TO  THE   SPANISH  MAIN 


TO  THE  SPANISH  MAIN 

WHAT  could  be  more  delightful,  upon  a 
cold  February  morning,  than  the  pros- 
pect of  a  voyage  to  southern  seas — with 
pleasant  assurance  that  in  a  day  or  two  you  will  ex- 
change the  wintry  blasts  of  the  city  streets  for  the 
soft  trade-winds  of  the  tropics,  fanning  your  cheek 
and  inviting  you  to  languor  and  repose? 

The  winter  had  been  a  particularly  severe  one. 
Ice-packs  floated  along  beside  us  all  the  way  down 
the  bay,  and  even  after  we  had  left  the  harbour 
and  dropped  our  pilot  beyond  the  Hook,  long  floes 
stretched  dazzling  white  along  the  horizon  like 
beaches  of  glittering  sand. 

As  I  looked  about  the  deck  I  could  scarcely  realise 
that  we  were  really  headed  for  the  Caribbean.  These 
big  Royal  Mail  packets,  with  their  English  officers 

[3] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

and  their  English  stewards  counting  in  shillings  and 
pence,  seemed  more  like  transatlantic  liners  (which 
in  reality  they  are,  sailing  for  Southampton  via  the 
British  possessions  in  the  West  Indies)  than  like  the 
usual  Panama  steamers. 

We  left  upon  a  Saturday.  All  day  Sunday  we 
pounded  the  seas  off  Hatteras  in  a  stiff  sou'easter, 
but  Monday  morning  dawned  bright  and  clear,  with 
a  blue  sea,  diapered  with  those  large  saffron-coloured 
spots  which  come  up  the  coast  with  the  Gulf  Stream. 

Already  on  Tuesday  the  breeze  blew  warmer  and 
the  first  signs  of  tropical  weather  appeared  among 
passengers  and  crew.  Sailors  and  deck-boys  shed 
shoes  and  stockings,  the  ladies  donned  lighter  frocks, 
and  the  men  were  shod  in  white.  Flying-fish  skipped 
from  wave  to  wave,  glistening  like  dragon-flies  in  the 
sunlight. 

That  afternoon  we  made  our  first  land — a  long 
island  lying  low  upon  the  horizon,  with  a  lighthouse 
at  its  highest  point,  Watling's  Island,  known  to  the 
Indians  as  Guanahuani.  It  was  the  landfall  of 
Columbus  upon  his  first  blind  voyage,  the  first  bit  of 
earth  in  the  New  World  pressed  by  European  feet, 
and  was  named  by  its  discoverer  San  Salvador.    Our 

[4] 


TO  THE   SPANISH   MAIN 

captain  described  it  as  about  twelve  miles  long  and 
from  five  to  seven  wide,  and  one  of  the  richest  of  the 
Bahama  group.  Its  five  hundred  inhabitants  keep 
in  contact  with  the  rest  of  the  world  only  by  means 
of  a  few  coasters  that  now  and  then  put  into  the  little 
reef  harbour  at  its  northern  end.  In  a  few  hours  we 
sank  it  in  the  northwest  and  sighted  no  more  land 
that  day. 

When  I  looked  out  of  my  port-hole  at  dawn  next 
morning,  I  could  make  out,  between  the  pale-pink 
sky  and  the  sea  that  lay  calm  and  opalescent  as  a 
great  pearl  shell,  a  long  grey  streak  that  each  mo- 
ment grew  more  distinct,  gathering  intensity  and 
form,  until  presently  a  vivid  shore  of  green,  the 
freshest  and  brightest  hue  imaginable,  gleamed  along 
the  horizon,  and  I  reahsed  that  we  were  rapidly  near- 
ing  the  coast  of  Cuba. 

The  sun  was  just  rising.  I  scurried  into  cool  white 
linens  and  scrambled  on  deck  just  as  we  were  thread- 
ing the  narrow  entrance  into  Nipe  Bay. 

Upon  the  one  hand  stood  a  plantation  set  in  gardens 
and  fields  of  sugar-cane,  and  among  thick  clumps  of 
palmettoes  nestled  a  group  of  native  huts  thatched 
and  wattled  with  grass.     On  the  opposite  shore  the 

[5] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

tall,  column-like  boles  of  a  cluster  of  royal  palms 
shone  brilliantly  against  the  distant  mountains  that, 
clear-cut  and  blue,  wreathed  their  summits  in  thick 
clouds  like  the  fumes  of  volcanoes,  so  heavy  and 
motionless  they  lay.  Even  at  this  early  hour  a 
drowsy  softness  pervaded  the  air — a  stillness  that 
could  be  felt.  Was  it  possible  that  we  were  but  four 
days  from  the  snow  and  sleet,  the  icy  streets  and 
blustering  winds  of  New  York  City? 

Of  course  we  landed  here  at  Antilla,  though  there 
was  nothing  much  to  see.  The  usual  mixture  of  the 
types  and  races  of  the  torrid  zone  stood  crowded 
upon  the  dock:  a  negress  dressed  in  old-rose  calico; 
a  mestiza  with  tattooed  arms  and  bony  hands  that 
clasped  a  manta  round  her  yellow  neck;  black  faces 
peering  from  the  shade  of  purple  and  magenta  hats, 
soldiers  in  khaki,  custom-house  oflScials  in  sky  blue, 
and  in  the  background  a  lumbering  ox-cart  dis- 
charging its  load  upon  a  waiting  scow. 

We  weighed  anchor  after  luncheon,  and  all  the 
afternoon  skirted  the  north  shore  of  Cuba.  Ever 
since  we  left  San  Salvador  we  had  followed  in 
the  wake  of  Columbus  groping  from  coast  to  coast 
upon  his  first  voyage.    After  landing  at  Guanahuani, 

[6] 


TO  THE   SPANISH   MAIN 

he  set  sail  southward  to  this  north  coast  of  Cuba, 
which  he  named  Isabella,  in  honour  of  his  queen,  and 


S'.^T? -r-o"^*    ,.'- 


Royal  Palms,  Nipe  Bay,  Cuba 

then,  as  we  were  now  doing,  he  skirted  its  shore 
until  he  doubled  Cape  Maysi  and  saw  Hayti,  or  Es- 

[7] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

panola,  as  he  called  it,  rise  from  the  sea  to  the  east- 
ward. 

This  Cuban  coast  is  a  long  succession  of  beautiful 
blue  mountains,  finely  drawn  as  the  pencillings  of  an 
old  Italian  master,  and  as  delicate  in  outline  as  the 
purple  djebels  of  northern  Africa.  On  the  deck, 
every  one  was  enjoying  the  balmy  air  and  the  pros- 
pect of  the  bright  blue  sea  flecked  with  whitecaps. 
How  different  our  passengers  from  the  usual  transat- 
lantic crowd,  bundled  in  shawls  and  veils  and  heavy 
ulsters!  Wraps  had  been  discarded,  and  the  ladies 
sat  about  in  fresh  white  gowns  and  leghorn  hats,  just 
as  they  would  on  summer  verandas. 

If  the  promenade-deck  still  looked  Anglo-Saxon, 
not  so  the  after-deck.  Already  it  had  caught  the 
tropic  atmosphere,  for  at  Antilla  we  had  taken 
aboard  a  crowd  of  Jamaican  negroes  as  black  as  coal 
— the  women  lolling  on  the  benches,  the  men  half 
asleep  in  lavender  shirts  with  their  heads  tied  up  in 
bandanas  to  ward  off  sea-sickness.  In  a  corner  a 
family  had  ensconced  itself,  rigging  up  a  sort  of  tent 
made  of  counterpanes,  one  sky  blue,  one  brick  red, 
and  the  third  an  old-rose  "spread"  gaily  figured  with 
white.    These  were  all  tied  together  and  their  ends 

[8] 


TO  THE  SPANISH  MAIN 

anchored  to  various  articles  of  luggage,  to  the  stan- 
chions of  the  deck  above,  or  to  the  ship's  benches.  In 
the  shade  of  these  bellying  draperies,  yet  fanned  by 
the  breeze,  lay  these  West  Indian  darkies,  a  man  and 
three  women,  their  heads  pillowed  on  bundles,  he 
half  covered  with  a  table-cloth,  his  head  near  that 
of  one  of  the  women  whose  scarlet  skirt  was  short 
enough  to  disclose  the  flounces  of  a  well-starched 
petticoat  and  a  pair  of  black  slippers  slashed  over 
white  stockings.  From  time  to  time  another  woman's 
hand  would  appear  to  smooth  her  wind-blown  dra- 
peries or  quiet  the  half -naked  pickaninnies  that  wrig- 
gled and  kicked  about  upon  the  deck  beside  her — an 
exotic  picture,  certainly,  one  to  be  painted  by  an 
impressionist  with  a  broad  brush  and  crude,  primary 
colour. 

By  evening  we  rounded  Cape  Maysi  and  steered 
southward  through  the  Windward  Passage.  As  our 
prow  pointed  toward  the  Caribbean,  the  romance  of 
the  Spanish  Main  seemed  to  fall  about  us  with  the 
deepening  twilight.  The  furrows  ploughed  by  the 
Spanish  caravels  have  closed,  to  be  sure,  and  no  sign 
marks  the  pathway  of  their  keels.  Ashore,  some  old 
buildings  on  a  battle-field,  a  bit  of  ruin  or  an  aban- 

[9] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

doned  road,  mark  the  progress  of  history  and  supply 
the  stepping-stones  that  Hnk  the  past  with  the  pres- 
ent; but  at  sea  the  waves  fill  in  the  furrows  as  quickly 
as  they  are  ploughed.  Yet  the  ghosts  of  the  "high- 
charged"  galleons  seem  to  linger  in  the  Caribbean, 
lurking  behind  the  reefs  of  its  islands,  taking  refuge 
in  its  harbours,  or  cresting  the  dancing  whitecaps.  In 
its  ports  the  English  and  the  French  lay  in  wait  for 
the  Spanish  argosies  and  Drake  laid  the  foundation 
of  England's  supremacy  on  the  sea,  while  over  yonder 
in  the  lee  of  Cape  Tiburon  Morgan  fitted  out  his  ex- 
pedition of  free-booters  and  buccaneers — the  most 
lawless  lot  of  rapscallions  that  ever  assembled  in  all 
these  pirate  waters — for  the  sack  of  Panama.  The 
flavour  of  their  deeds  still  lingers  in  these  archipel- 
agoes— on  these  shores  shaded  by  cocoa-nut  palms, 
in  their  bamboo-built  hamlets,  and  in  the  little  har- 
bours reefed  about  with  coral. 

Toward  noon  next  day,  Jamaica's  lovely  coast  rose 
over  the  starboard  bow.  As  we  drew  nearer  we 
could  make  out  the  gleaming  fringes  of  breakers 
along  the  reefs  and  the  low  shores  vivid  with  mangoes 
and  palmettoes.  Big,  vaporous  mountains,  purple 
and  crowned  with  cumuli,  rose  behind,  full  of  mystery 

[10] 


TO  THE  SPANISH  MAIN 

and  charm.  For  hours  we  skirted  this  enchanting 
island.  Then  a  Hghthouse  appeared  with,  near  it,  the 
wreck  of  a  German  liner  breaking  to  pieces  upon  the 
treacherous  sand — an  accident  that  happened  just 
after  the  last  earthquake  when  the  lighthouse  was  put 
out  of  commission. 

As  we  stood  watching  it  we  made  out,  in  the  surf 
near  shore,  a  long-boat  breasting  the  waves,  now 
raised  high  in  air  upon  their  crests,  now  completely 
engulfed  in  the  deeps  between  them.  Its  flags,  fore 
and  aft,  stood  taut  in  the  clipping  breeze,  and  as  it 
approached  we  could  see  its  oarsmen  bending  stur- 
dily over  their  sweeps.  What  a  picture  it  made  as  it 
drew  under  the  lee  of  our  great  bulk,  the  green  boat  in 
the  lapis  sea  with  its  brawny  negro  rowers,  whose  bare 
legs  and  chests,  wet  with  spray,  gleamed  like  polished 
bronze!  Bright  bandanas  were  knotted  about  their 
heads,  and  their  scant  clothing,  old  and  tattered, 
scarcely  concealed  their  nakedness.  In  the  stern- 
sheets  sat  a  man  who  steered  with  one  hand,  while 
with  the  other  he  baled  out  the  boat  with  a  cocoa- 
nut  shell.  Now  from  such  a  boat  would  you  not 
expect  some  John  Hawkins  or  Captain  Kidd  to  step 
forth?     But  the  man  in  the  stern  proved  only  the 

[  11  ] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

Kingston  pilot  as  he  clambered  up  the  rope  ladder 
to  our  deck. 

The  boat  remained  bobbing  in  the  sea  as  our 
engines  started  again,  and  supplied  just  the  proper 
foreground  note  to  this  picture  of  old  Port  Royal  that 
now  began  to  unfold  itself.  On  the  shore  side  of  the 
long  sand-spit  that  shields  the  harbour  from  the  in- 
roads of  the  sea,  under  the  protection  of  the  British 
flag,  where  the  prim  barracks  are  now  lined  up,  the 
pirates  of  France  and  England  used  to  careen  and 
clean  their  ships  and  prepare  themselves  for  their  next 
bloody  foray  upon  the  Spanish  settlements  and  the 
caravels  taking  the  "King's  Fifth"  to  Spain. 

As  we  rounded  the  end  of  the  spit  and  Kingston's 
harbour  opened  before  us,  we  could  see  the  beaches 
where  these  pirates  landed,  laden  with  loot  from  the 
Isthmus,  and  swaggered  up  to  the  taverns  to  squander 
their  doubloons  and  pieces-of-eight  in  riotous  living. 
Here  Mansvelt  and  Morgan  replenished  their  crews 
and  refitted  their  ships;  here  they  joined  forces  with 
a  fleet  of  fifteen  vessels  manned  by  five  hundred  men, 
and  here  to  Port  Royal  Sir  Henry  Morgan  returned 
after  Mansvelt's  death,  for  it  was  his  ambition  to 
consecrate  this  harbour  as  a  *'  refuge  and  sanctuary  for 

[12] 


TO  THE  SPANISH   MAIN 

pirates"  and  a  store-house  for  their  spoils.     Here, 
too,  in  this  town  of  buccaneers,  he  planned  his  raids 


^€^     -^ 


■S-t.  T.  ,-.• 


Negroes  Selling  "  Rope  Tobacco,"  Kingston,  Jamaica 

on  Cuba  and  the  Gulf  of  Maracaibo,  and  hence  he  set 
sail  to  join  the  fleet  that  he  had  assembled  off  Hayti 
for  his  attack  on  Panama. 

[13] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

All  these  memories  crowded  my  thoughts  as  we 
slowly  steamed  up  to  the  Royal  Mail  dock,  catching 
glimpses  as  we  passed  of  the  straight  streets  swarm- 
ing with  people  that  lead  up  toward  the  vega,  extend- 
ing soft,  green,  and  tropical  toward  the  mountains. 
The  flimsy  houses  with  low-pitched  roofs,  the  cocoa- 
nut  palms  waving  their  long  arms  in  the  easterly 
trade-winds,  the  pelicans  fishing  in  the  bay,  the 
Jamaican  negroes  that  swarmed  about  the  dock,  the 
English-looking  shops  of  the  main  street, — excellent 
emporia,  by  the  way,  for  outfitting  in  the  tropics, — 
these  compose  Kingston  of  to-day,  just  as  they  com- 
posed Kingston  of  yesterday. 

There  is  an  excellent  hotel,  set  in  its  own  gardens, 
but  unfortunately — or  fortunately,  I  believe — there 
were  no  rooms  to  be  had  in  it,  so  we  tried  a  place  in 
the  town  where  we  dined  in  a  picturesque  court  with 
a  fountain  plashing  beside  us,  a  gaudy  parrot  in  a 
silver  cage  moping  among  pale  moon-flowers,  a  pair 
of  doves  cooing  in  a  corner — a  little  place,  in  fact, 
whose  romantic  charm  had  caught  even  an  old  Civil 
War  veteran,  who  somehow  had  been  side-tracked 
here,  and  who  after  dinner  tuned  up  his  violin,  or 
fiddle,  as  he  called  it,  and  played  in  the  moonlight. 

[14] 


TO  THE  SPANISH  MAIN 

Later  we  drove  about  in  the  darkness  of  the  tropic 
night,  catching  glimpses  of  dimly  lighted  Rembrandt- 
esque  figures  seated  in  open  doorways  or  working 
in  shops  lit  by  flickering  lamps. 

There  were  the  Hope  Gardens  and  the  markets  to 
be  visited  next  morning,  and  at  two  o'clock  we  left 
for  the  south.  The  governor  had  come  aboard  to 
see  off  some  distinguished  friends,  and  the  English 
element  became  even  more  pronounced  among  the 
passengers.  Army  oflacers  in  khaki  greeted  each 
other  as  Sir  John  and  Sir  William,  and  dinner-coats 
became  the  rule  after  sundown. 

Saturday  we  spent  on  the  high  seas,  lashed  by  the 
"doctor,"  as  the  Jamaicans  call  this  brisk  trade-wind 
that  kicks  up  such  a  swell  in  the  Caribbean — a  wind, 
as  the  captain  expressed  it,  that  "sometimes  blows 
the  bananas  off  the  trees";  and  he  was  authority,  too, 
for  the  following  verse,  showing  that  in  February  we 
were  only  seeing  the  "doctor"  at  his  feeblest: 

"June  too  soon; 
July  stand  by; 
August  look  out; 
September  remember; 
October  all  over." 

[15] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

Before  dawn  on  Sunday  morning  I  saw  a  light- 
house blinking  on  a  headland,  and  the  dark  moun- 
tains behind  Porto  Bello  loomed  faint  and  grey 
against  the  sky.  Then  all  sign  of  land  disappeared 
for  a  while,  until  a  tropical  shore,  flooded  in  the  rosy 
sunrise,  suffused  in  humid  atmosphere,  appeared 
resting  on  a  turquoise  sea.  A  long  break-water  lay 
to  the  right,  a  number  of  docks  to  the  left.  We  were 
passed  by  the  business-like  Canal  Zone  doctor  and 
soon  were  setting  foot  upon  the  Isthmus. 


[16] 


PANAMA 


PANAMA 

"Then,  go  away  if  you  have  to  go 
Then,  go  away  if  you  will! 
To  again  return  you  will  always  yearn 
While  the  lamp  is  burning  still! 

"You've  drank  the  Chagres  water, 
And  the  mango  eaten  free. 
And,  strange  though  it  seems,  'twill  haunt  your 
dreams. 
This  Land  of  the  Cocoanut  Tree!" 

HOW  true  this  verse  from  ''Panama  Patch- 
work," penned  by  poor  James  Gilbert,  who 
lost  his  life  by  dwelling  too  long  under  the 
spell  of  the  Isthmus — which  is  scarcely  to  be  won- 
dered at,  for  his  "Land  of  the  Cocoanut  Tree"  cer- 
tainly exerts  a  strange  and  potent  fascination. 

The  achievements  of  its  intrepid  discoverers  and 
conquistadores ;  the  romantic  episodes  of  its  treasure- 
trains  laden  with  the  wealth  of  Peru;  the  bloody  raids 
of  the  buccaneers;  the  onward  rush  to  the  gold-fields 

[19] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

of  California — all  these  and,  finally,  the  digging  of 
the  great  canal  compose  a  historic  background  such 
as  few  countries  can  boast. 

Every  great  personage  of  early  American  history 
has  imprinted  his  footsteps  upon  its  red  clay  soil. 
In  his  futile  search  for  the  Straits — the  mythical 
Stretto  Cubitoso  that  never  could  be  found — Colum- 
bus beat  along  its  coast,  and  Colon  and  Cristobal,  the 
Atlantic  entrance  to  the  canal,  perpetuate  his  mem- 
ory. From  a  hill  in  Darien,  Balboa  first  beheld  the 
Pacific,  and  the  Pacific  gateway  to  the  canal  will 
hand  down  his  name  to  posterity.  Pizarro  and  Cor- 
tez  waged  their  first  battles  along  its  sandy  shores 
and  slew  the  Indians  in  its  treacherous  jungles.  Her- 
nando de  Soto  made  it  the  theatre  of  his  first  ex- 
plorations and  there  prepared  himself  for  the  dis- 
covery of  the  Mississippi.  Sir  Francis  Drake  sailed 
his  first  boat,  the  Sican,  in  the  troubled  waters  that 
wash  its  shores,  and  Henry  Morgan  harassed  its 
coast-towns  in  his  bloodiest  forays.  De  Lesseps, 
hero  of  Suez,  went  down  to  defeat  before  its  fevers 
and  the  crooked  administration  of  his  company. 
Finally,  American  enterprise,  triumphing  over  all 
obstacles,  has   here   given   its    best  account  of   the 

[20] 


PANAMA 

value  of  collective  endeavour  and  carried  through 
the  dream  of  centuries,  the  greatest  achievement  of 
mankind.  .  .  . 

The  town  of  Colon,  though  attractive  enough  when 
viewed  from  the  harbour,  is  disappointing  upon  closer 
acquaintance.  Its  straight  streets,  flanked  by  two- 
storied  houses,  shaded  above  and  below  by  broad 
verandas,  remind  one,  to  be  sure,  of  some  old  town 
of  Spanish  California,  but  little  tempts  to  linger.  So, 
without  regret,  in  a  tumble-down  cab  we  followed  our 
luggage  (given  in  charge  to  a  turbaned  East  Indian) 
from  the  dock  to  the  railroad  station. 

The  ride  to  Panama  proved  full  of  interest.  When 
we  crossed  upon  this  occasion  the  new  line  of  the 
Panama  Railway  through  the  Black  Swamp  had  just 
been  opened,  so  that,  beyond  Gatun  from  the  car- 
windows,  we  enjoyed  rare  glimpses  of  the  virgin  jun- 
gle, a  tropical  hortus  of  blooming  trees,  with  orchids 
and  flowering  vines  draped  in  their  branches,  hung 
amid  screens  of  convolvuli  and  creepers  as  intricate 
as  the  pendent  cords  of  Japanese  curtains.  Cane 
huts,  primitive  as  those  pictured  by  the  old  chroni- 
clers in  the  woodcuts  of  their  first  editions,  basked 
in  the  shade  of  cocoa-nut  palms. 

[21] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

It  was  a  Sunday,  and  at  each  station  little  parties 
of  holiday-makers — engineers,  army  officers  in  im- 
maculate white  with  their  fresh  young  wives — came 
aboard  or  dropped  off  to  see  friends  at  the  different 
camps. 

Each  station  had  a  physiognomy  of  its  own.  Fri- 
joles  was  a  collection  of  negro  cabins  clustered  about 
a  primitive  church;  Matachin  a  railroad  junction; 
Camp  Elliott  an  army  post,  smart,  spick,  and  span; 
Las  Cascadas  a  steaming  centre  of  locomotives  and 
car  shops;  Culebra  a  thriving-looking  place  where, 
through  the  open  church  windows,  we  could  see  the 
congregation  at  prayer. 

At  many  of  the  turns  we  had  views  of  the  canal 
work.  Gatun  Locks  and  the  Spillway  lay  near  the 
road,  and  the  broad  artificial  lake  formed  by  the 
dammed-up  Chagres  River  spread  its  placid  waters 
to  shores  adorned  with  bouquets  of  cocoa-nut  trees 
and  graceful  palms.  But  after  Culebra  little  verdure 
was  to  be  seen.  Later  the  great  locks  of  Pedro 
Miguel  and  Miraflores  appeared  to  the  right,  and 
finally  Ancon  Hill  rose  behind  the  Tivoli  lying  close 
to  the  track  in  the  foreground. 

Thus  in  a  little  less  than  two  hours  we  had  accom- 

[22] 


PANAMA 

plished  the  journey  across  the  continent  from  ocean 
to  ocean,  the  only  place  upon  the  hemisphere  where 
it  is  now  possible  to  behold  both  oceans  in  a  single 
day. 

And  how  different  the  journey  nowadays  from  what 
it  used  to  be!  When  Balboa  set  out  to  find  the 
South  Sea  he  forced  his  way  for  twenty-six  days 
through  the  trackless  jungle  before  he  reached  the 
hill  from  which  he  first  beheld  the  Pacific.  Morgan 
and  his  buccaneers  almost  lost  their  lives  while  on 
their  way  to  sack  Old  Panama,  poling  up  the  Chagres 
River  to  Venta  Cruz,  wading  waist  high  through  the 
swamps;  cutting  their  way  painfully  with  machetes 
through  the  pulpy  undergrowth,  attacked  by  mosqui- 
toes and  jiggers  and  Indians  with  poisoned  arrows; 
hearing  the  strange  quick  cry  of  the  "chicaly"  bird 
or  the  "corrosou  tolling  his  bell-like  notes";  watching 
the  monkeys  play  "a  thousand  antick  Tricks"  in  the 
branches  above  their  heads.  What  strange  dreams 
must  have  haunted  their  superstitious  minds !  What 
fears  must  have  racked  their  bodies,  wasted  by  hunger 
and  disease!  In  desperation  they  were  forced  to 
eat  the  leather  of  their  clothing  and  accoutrements, 
stripped  and  pounded  upon  stones,  and  when,  on 

[23] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

the  sixth  day,  they  fell  upon  a  barn  full  of  maize, 
they  devoured  it  dry  and  raw. 

Such  was  crossing  the  Isthmus  in  the  old  days. 
Now  even  the  dread  of  fever — the  last  nightmare  to 
haunt  its  morasses — has  been  conjured  away,  thanks 
to  sanitary  measures  that  will  serve  as  models  to  all 
the  world.  Under  army  supervision  the  death  rate 
in  the  Canal  Zone  has  been  reduced  to  a  lower  per- 
centage than  in  any  of  the  large  cities  of  the  United 
States. 

Panama  City  of  to-day  dates  from  the  latter  half  of 
the  seventeenth  century.  Old  Panama,  the  city  of 
the  conquistadores,  lay  a  few  miles  distant,  and  we 
shall  visit  its  ruins  presently.  The  newer  city  pos- 
sesses all  the  picturesque  features,  all  the  charm  of  an 
old  Spanish  town.  Its  streets  are  not  straight  and 
regular,  as  in  most  Latin-American  cities,  but  wriggle 
and  turn  and  twist  out  from  and  back  to  the  long 
Avenida  Central,  the  main  street  that  traverses  the 
city  from  end  to  end,  containing  the  principal  shops 
and  crossing  all  the  plazas. 

The  houses  are  substantially  built  and  washed  with 
those  pastel  tones — rose,  pale  blue,  water  green,  buff, 
and  grey — of  which  the  Spanish  peoples  are  so  fond- 

[24] 


S  •'^  t«  TvoTVo 


The  Cathedral,  Panama 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

Verandas,  as  in  Colon,  overhang  all  the  thorough- 
fares, and  the  indolent  Panamans  spend  much  of 
their  time  upon  them  or  lounging  about  the  numer- 
ous cafes  and  hostelries. 

There  are  several  plazas.  The  old  church  of  Santa 
Ana  overlooks  one;  another  is  named  for  Bolivar, 
liberator  of  Spanish  America  and  founder  of  its  re- 
pubhcs;  and,  appropriately  enough,  the  government 
buildings,  a  little  tawdry  perhaps,  and  the  post-office 
lie  near  it.  The  third,  and  this  is  the  largest  and 
most  important,  is  named  for  the  cathedral  that 
fronts  upon  it — a  charming  square  planted  with 
handsome  palms  and  tropical  gardens.  The  cathedral 
fagade,  while  not  bearing  critical  analysis,  has  all  the 
allure  of  the  big  Spanish  churches,  and  the  other  re- 
ligious edifices  of  the  city  are  picturesque  and  some- 
times rarely  charming  in  colour. 

No  matter  what  else  you  miss  in  Panama,  do  not 
neglect  a  walk  upon  the  Bovedas,  or  city  walls  that 
skirt  the  gulf.  These  great  fortifications,  the  most 
formidable,  except  those  at  Cartagena,  that  the  Span- 
ish erected  in  their  American  possessions,  are  forty 
feet  in  height  and  no  less  than  sixty  feet  in  thickness. 
Their  tops  afford  the  favourite  promenade  for  the 

[2G] 


PANAMA 

Panamans,  who,  toward  sunset,  when  the  heat  of 
the  day  has  spent  itself,  saunter  up  and  down  its 
broad  esplanade  enjoying  the  cool  breeze  and  watch- 
ing the  sun  slowly  sink  behind  the  hills. 

No  matter  how  long  you  remain  in  Panama,  you 
never  grow  quite  accustomed  to  the  points  of  the 
compass,  for  the  sun  rises  out  of  the  Pacific  and  sets 
behind  the  wooded  mountains  of  the  Isthmus,  which, 
of  course,  is  due  to  the  fact  that  Panama  lies  east,  or 
rather  southeast,  of  Colon  instead  of  west,  as  one 
would  naturally  suppose. 

From  this  sea-wall  the  view  is  beautiful.  Off  to 
the  right  lies  Balboa,  at  the  entrance  to  the  canal, 
with  the  three  fortified  islands  whose  guns  will  com- 
mand the  fairway.  Farther  from  shore  Taboga  and 
Taboguilla,  lovely  and  wooded,  rise  from  the  blue 
waters,  the  former  a  healthy  spot  supplied  with  the 
purest  of  water  and  used  by  the  government  as  a 
sanitarium.  Other  islets  lie  dotted  about,  and  to  the 
south  the  gulf  stretches  off  to  the  Pearl  Islands,  cov- 
eted treasure-lands,  whose  gems  at  one  time  rivalled 
those  of  Ceylon  and  supplied  the  Spanish  crown  with 
some  of  its  rarest  jewels.  Shoreward  lies  the  city, 
encircling  its  harbour,  dominated  by  the  cathedral 

[27] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

towers,  whose  spires  are  incrusted  with  pearl  shells 
that,  after  the  frequent  rains,  sparkle  and  glitter  in 
the  sunhght,  serving  as  beacons  to  many  a  fisherman 
tossed  in  the  troubled  waters  of  the  gulf. 

But  to  my  mind  the  sea-wall  promenade  is  at  its 
best  at  night  when  the  wondrous  stars — the  stars  of 
the  southern  seas — twinkle  and  sparkle  in  the  firma- 
ment. Then  no  one  disturbs  your  reverie  but  the 
sentry  rattling  his  musket  as  he  moves  in  his  stone 
look-out  at  an  angle  of  the  walls,  or  the  sereno  as  he 
whistles  to  and  is  answered  by  the  other  night  watch- 
men. The  acacias  nod  their  delicate  leaves  in 
the  night  breeze  that  plays  soft  and  cool  upon  your 
cheek,  and  out  over  the  flat  salt  marshes  (for  the 
waters  of  the  sea  onty  lick  the  walls  at  high 
tide)  the  moon  rises,  touching  pool  after  pool  with 
silver. 

To  complete  the  evening,  return  to  the  plaza  and 
watch  the  crowd  that  enjoys  the  music  as  the  band 
plays:  the  women  in  black  and  the  men  in  white;  the 
natives  (if  it  be  Sunday)  wearing  the  'pollera,  or  na- 
tional costume,  filling  an  interminable  string  of  hired 
carriages  that  slowly  meander  up  and  down  the 
Avenida.      The  stately  palms  framing  Santa   Ana's 

[28] 


PANAMA 


belfry  cut  their  silhouettes  against  the  sky  of  indigo ; 
the  tread  of  human  feet  echoes  on  the  glazed-tiled 

r 


-W 


'»''  ^  ■pi 


A' 


/" 


Avenida  Central,  Panama 

pavement;  but  all  is  toned  and  put  in  tune  by  the 
glamour  of  the  southern  night. 

It  is  with  a  sense   of   rude   awakening  that  you 
enter  the  brilliantly  lighted  hall  of  the  Hotel  Tivoli 

[29] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

— so  typically  American  in  every  detail,  so  strangely 
discordant,  yet  so  comfortable  and  clean,  in  all  this 
tropic  atmosphere. 

An  excursion  to  the  ruins  of  Old  Panama  can  easily 
be  managed  in  one  afternoon,  and  for  it  we  preferred 
a  carriage  to  a  motor,  so  that  we  could  enjoy  it  at  our 
leisure.    Our  driver  was  an  old  Jamaican  negro  who 
spoke  English  with  a  cockney  accent.    He  knew  every 
plant  of  the  tropics  and  pointed  out  as  we  went  along 
the  guava-trees  and  the  poincianas,  gorgeous  with 
crimson  flowers;  the  bread-fruits  nodding  their  great, 
pointed  leaves;  and  the  trumpet-trees,  whose  vivid 
foliage,  Hned  with  silver,  sparkled  as  the  wind  turned 
it  over.    He  called  our  attention  also  to  the  whistling 
of  the  coral  snake,  saying  that  "if  it  stings  you,  it's 
a  dirty  business,"  and  to  an  iguana,  briUiant,  green, 
that  stood  motionless  by  the  roadside,  strange  relic  of 
the  Jurassic  age — an  esteemed  delicacy  of  the  natives, 
with  meat  as  white  and  tender  as  that  of  squab 
chicken.    Mango  and  rose  apple,  cocoa-nut  palm  and 
royal  palm,  engaged  our  attention  turn  by  turn  until 
we  reached  Las  Sabaiias. 

I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  the  country  is  thickly 
wooded  or  jungle-like  in  character.    On  the  contrary, 

[301 


PANAMA 

the  hills  are  rather  bare  and  grass-grown  like  pasture 
lands,  for  all  the  tangle  of  tropic  growth  has  been  cut 
back  in  the  interest  of  health. 

After  the  villas  of  Las  Sabanas,  where  the  well-to- 
do  Panamans  make  their  homes  in  summer,  a  few 


The  Old  Bells  at  Cruces 


native  huts  appear,  thatched  and  faced  with  dried 
palm  leaves  or  plaited  like  baskets  with  straw  and 
cane. 

We  now  left  the  main  road,  turning  aside  at  a  prison 
where  a  huge  alligator-skin,  some  eight  feet  long,  was 
drying  in  the  sun — product  of  a  recent  hunt.  Soon 
we  met  the  prisoners  themselves  making  a  new  road 
to  the  beach.  And  here  we  came  upon  the  ruins  of 
Panama  Viejo. 

[31] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

They  have  been  cleared  lately  of  their  tangle  of 
underbrush,  and  so  are  seen  to  better  advantage  than 
they  formerly  were  when  smothered  in  vines  and 
creepers.  First  you  cross  a  ruined  bridge,  then  sub- 
stantial stone  walls  appear  and  foundations  covering 
a  considerable  area,  and  finally  the  tall  tower  of  the 
church  of  Saint  Anastasius,  rising  close  by  the  beach, 
overlooking  the  little  harbour.  Here  lay  the  town 
that  has  caused  such  discussion  among  historians. 
The  old  Spanish  chroniclers,  with  their  customary 
enthusiasm,  describe  it  as  a  great  city  of  several 
thousand  houses,  with  palaces  and  churches  of  suffi- 
cient splendour  to  make  it  resemble  Venice !  Benzoni, 
an  Italian  who  visited  it  at  this  same  early  epoch, 
resented  this  comparison,  and  says  that,  on  the  con- 
trary, it  was  nothing  but  a  collection  of  rude  mud 
huts. 

The  truth  lay  somewhere  between  these  two  ex- 
tremes. The  ruins  that  remain  would  certainly  attest 
a  well-built  town  of  considerable  importance,  and  it 
is  probable  that  all  about  this  substantial  nucleus  of 
stone  clustered  hundreds  of  flimsy  constructions  ex- 
tending into  the  surrounding  savannahs. 

When  a  treasure-ship  was  despatched  from  Peru, 

[32] 


PANAMA 

an  express  was  sent  ahead  to  advise  the  people  of 
Panama  of  its  coming,  and  their  governor,  in  his  turn, 
notified  the  colonies  along  the  Spanish  Main.    Upon 


Ruins  of  Old  Panama 

its  arrival  the  treasure  was  carried  across  the  Isthmus 
by  recwas,  or  donkey -trains,  convoyed  by  strong  forces 
of  soldiers.  But  the  English  and  French  buccaneers, 
the  Cimaroons,  and  the  San  Bias  Indians  with  poi- 
soned arrows  gave  them  many  a  bitter  fight  upon  the 
way.     Its  destination  was  Nombre  de  Dios,  that, 

[33] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

owing  to  its  unhealthy  situation,  had  but  few  per- 
manent inhabitants.  Upon  the  arrival  of  these  treas- 
ure-trains, however,  it  filled  with  a  multitude  of 
merchants  from  Panama  and  the  colonies  along  the 
Caribbean,  who  bargained  and  bartered  for  weeks. 
The  King's  galleons,  that  had  been  waiting  in  the  safe 
havens  of  Cartagena  and  Santa  Marta,  came  over  to 
load  their  precious  cargoes  and  transport  the  King's 
Fifth  to  Spain. 

Thus  upon  this  pebbly  beach  of  Panama  Viejo — a 
cove  large  enough  for  galleons  but  scarcely  capable 
of  accommodating  half  a  dozen  modern  ships — all 
the  wealth  of  the  Incas,  Atahualpa's  ransom,  the 
golden  plates  from  the  Temple  of  the  Sun,  the  vast 
products  of  the  silver  mines  of  Potosi  were  landed 
to  be  transported  across  the  Isthmus. 

The  shore  of  the  little  bay  still  bears  traces  of  its 
sea-wall  and,  I  think,  of  a  fortress  such  as  one  sees 
in  towns  of  similar  importance  along  the  Mediter- 
ranean. 

As  you  turn  your  back  upon  the  sea  you  look  up 
toward  the  mountains,  the  hills  from  which  Morgan 
looked  down  upon  his  prey  after  the  misery  he  had 
suffered  in  crossing  the  Isthmus.     And  it  was  from 

[34] 


PANAMA 

their  heights  that,  with  flags  flying,  trumpets  blow- 
ing, and  drums  beating  a  bravery,  he  descended 
to  attack  the  doomed  city.  He  left  it  some  days 
later  burned  to  the  ground,  its  inhabitants  tortured, 
robbed,  or  killed — so  effectually  wiped  out  that  it  has 
never  been  rebuilt.  Two  hundred  beasts  of  burden 
laden  with  spoils  and  six  hundred  prisoners  held 
for  ransom  went  with  him  as  he  set  out  again  to 
rejoin  his  boats  hidden  on  the  Chagres  River  near 
Cruces. 

We  returned  to  Panama  in  the  spell  of  the  late 
afternoon.  A  marked  change  had  taken  place  in  the 
aspect  of  the  road,  especially  after  we  passed  Las 
Sabanas,  for,  instead  of  its  mid-day  loneliness,  it  was 
now  dotted  with  buggies,  carriages  and  motors  of 
all  descriptions  being,  toward  evening,  the  favourite, 
in  fact  the  only,  drive  from  Panama. 

I  shall  not  attempt  any  account  of  the  wonderful 
canal  work  which,  however,  at  the  time  of  our  visit 
was  at  its  most  interesting  stage,  the  excavations  at 
their  deepest,  the  great  cranes  and  derricks,  steam 
shovels  and  puffing  dirt-trains  in  full  operation,  and 
the  giant  locks  alive  with  ant-like  human  beings 
crawling   down   below,    hanging   suspended   on   the 

[35] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

dizzy  walls,  or  braving  death  upon  the  red,  rust- 
proof gates  as  tall  as  sky-scrapers. 

Thanks  to  the  courtesy  of  Mr.  Bishop,  secretary 
of  the  canal  commission,  who  accompanied  us  in 
person,  we  made  a  rarely  pleasant  visit  to  its  varied 
features,  going  about  in  a  motor-car  that  runs  on  the 
tracks  and  therefore  can  follow  anywhere  that  the 
dirt-trains  go — that  is,  everywhere. 

When  we  felt  that  we  had  seen  it  all  we  drove  one 
day  over  to  Balboa,  and  at  its  long  dock  embarked 
for  Peru. 


[36] 


DOWN   THE   WEST   COAST   TO   PERU 


DOWN  THE  WEST  COAST 
TO  PERU 

WHEN  we  boarded  the  steamer  at  Panama 
(or,  as  the  new  port  is  called,  Balboa, 
and  I  like  the  name)  we  seemed  to  be 
headed  for  a  new  world.  The  moist  and  misty  air, 
the  soft  hills  fringed  with  tropical  vegetation,  the 
rich  islands  of  the  bay,  Taboga  and  Taboguilla 
with  their  little  neighbours,  precipitous,  yet  thickly 
wooded  down  to  the  very  water's  edge,  composed  a 
picture  so  unlike  the  usual  ports  of  embarkment  in 
more  northern  climes  that  we  settled  ourselves  in 
our  chairs  with  a  feeling  of  quiet  expectancy,  antici- 
pating a  voyage  on  placid  waters  in  the  doldrums 
under  the  equator.  Nor  were  we  to  be  disappointed. 
As  we  slowly  steamed  down  the  gulf,  the  sun  neared 
the  horizon  and  its  broad  golden  rays  spread  out  great 
fingers  behind  the  purple  islands,  making  them  ap- 
pear, as  one  of  the  young  ladies  naively  expressed  it, 

[39] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

"like  the  old  pictures  of  heaven."  Long  files  of  peli- 
cans lazily  flapped  their  heavy  wings  as  they  slowly 
made  their  way  homeward  against  the  evening  breeze. 

An  hour  later  the  faint  forms  of  the  Pearl  Islands 
rose  before  us — San  Jose  to  the  southward;  Pedro 
Gonzales  to  the  north,  and  behind  them  the  cloud- 
wreathed  summit  of  Rey  Island  that  screened  from 
view  Saint  Michael's  Bay,  where  Balboa  strode  into 
the  surf  to  take  possession  of  the  Southern  Sea  in  the 
name  of  the  Spanish  King.  These  islands  lured  us 
on  like  sirens,  as  they  had  many  a  mariner  before  us, 
by  the  glint  of  their  precious  gems,  to  fall  into  the 
hands  of  some  pirate,  some  John  Sharp  or  his  like, 
lurking  in  an  inlet  awaiting  the  galleons,  gold-laden, 
that  bore  the  treasure  of  the  Incas  for  trans-shipment 
to  Spain. 

Following  the  same  track  that  we  were  taking, 
Pizarro,  nearly  four  hundred  years  ago,  with  his  lit- 
tle company  had  set  out  upon  his  conquest  of  Peru. 
And  that  tall  brig  upon  the  horizon, 

"Her  tiering  canvas  in  sheeted  silver  spread," 

might  she  not  well  be  his  caravel  bound  for  Gorgona 
or  lonely  Gallo  or  the  verdant  islands  of  the  Gulf  of 

[40] 


DOWN  THE  WEST  COAST  TO  PERU 

Guayaquil?  The  sun  had  now  set;  the  clouds  parted, 
and  the  moon,  hitherto  hidden,  poured  its  pale  radi- 
ance upon  the  calm  Pacific. 

Next  morning  (how  strange  at  sea !)  I  was  awakened 
by  the  bleating  of  a  lamb  and  by  a  lusty  cock-crow. 
The  Pacific  Steam  Navigation  Company's  steamers 
of  the  West  Coast  are  a  strange  little  world.  Built 
for  an  ocean  where  storms  are  unknown,  thev  com- 
bine  certain  comforts  not  to  be  found  on  much  more 
pretentious  boats.  Their  saloons  and  cabins  are  ex- 
ceptionally large  and  open  directly  upon  the  prome- 
nade-decks that  stretch  the  entire  length  of  the  ship, 
there  being,  properly  speaking,  no  steerage  and  no 
second  class.  The  natives  and  others  who  cannot 
afford  the  first-class  ticket  travel  in  the  "cubierta," 
as  it  is  called,  a  deck  at  the  stern  roofed  with  canvas 
but  otherwise  open,  where  in  picturesque  confusion, 
surrounded  by  bags  and  bundles,  they  loll  in  ham- 
mocks or  lie  wrapped  in  shawls. 

Upon  this  deck  the  hen-coop  faces,  a  big  two- 
story  affair,  partly  filled  with  ripening  fruits — ba- 
nanas, oranges,  and  the  like — and  partly  with  chick- 
ens, ducks,  and  other  forlorn-looking  fowl  fattening 
for  the  table.     Between  decks  stand  your  beef  and 

[41] 


PACIFIC   SHORES   FROM  PANAMA 

mutton  on  the  hoof,  gazing  mournfully  up  at  you  as 
you  look  down  the  hatchways. 

Upon  this  home-like  boat,  quiet  and  contented, 
with  no  unseemly  hurry,  you  meander  down  the  coast 
at  ten  knots.  The  air  is  soft  as  a  caress,  and  for  at 
least  eight  months  of  the  year  the  sea  as  placid  as  a 
mountain  lake,  a  glassy  mirror  reflecting  an  azure 

skv. 

For  one  who  wishes  to  escape  the  rigours  of  a 
northern  winter,  for  a  lover  of  soft  sunshine,  of 
southern  seas  without  the  brisk  trades  of  the  Carib- 
bean, I  can  imagine  no  more  delightful  voyage  than 
this  West  Coast  cruise,  quietly  gliding  southward,  a 
cloudless  sky  overhead  in  the  daytime,  a  marvellous 
starry  heaven  at  night.  Little  by  little  the  North 
Star  drops  toward  the  horizon;  little  by  Httle  the 
Southern  Cross  ascends  in  the  firmament. 

It  may  be  hot  for  the  first  day  or  two,  but  on  the 
third  day  out  you  cross  the  equator  and  face  the 
breeze  that  follows  the  antarctic  current,  Hum- 
boldt's Current,  that  freshens  and  cools  what  other- 
wise would  be  a  hot  and  steamy  coast.  Occasionally 
the  calm  surface  of  the  sea  is  ruffled,  now  by  the  spike- 
like fin  of  a  shark  or  the  blow  and  rounded  back  of 

[42] 


DOWN  THE  WEST   COAST  TO   PERU 

a  grey  whale;  again  by  tortoise  shining  hke  great 
topazes  set  in  opals  or  by  silvery  flying-fish  skimming 
from  wave  to  wave  or  schools  of  white-bellied  man- 
tas  that  frolic  along  by  the  steamer's  side. 

Three  idle  days  pass  by. 

At  dawn  upon  the  fourth  I  distinctly  heard  a 
locomotive  whistle  and  then  the  clear  call  of  a  bugle. 
Looking  out  of  the  state-room  window,  I  had  my  first 
glimpse  of  Peru.  It  was  quite  what  I  had  been  led  to 
expect:  a  long,  bleak  shore  of  sand,  desolate,  treeless, 
dry.  We  were  anchored  before  Paita,  but  the  port 
was  still  silent  and  the  little  town  apparently  asleep, 
except  for  an  officer  taking  his  morning  ride  along  the 
beach.  By  the  time  I  came  on  deck  a  boat  or  two 
had  put  out  from  shore  with  the  doctor  and  the  com- 
pany's agent.  Finally  the  captain  of  the  port  ar- 
rived, resplendent  in  his  gold-laced  uniform  as  he  sat 
in  the  stern-sheets  of  his  smart  chaloupa,  manned  by 
four  stalwart  oarsmen  in  spotless  white. 

I  lost  all  interest  in  him,  however,  as  soon  as  I  made 
out  the  queer  rafts  and  boats  that  were  now  paddling 
out  toward  us.  Here,  come  to  life  again,  were  the 
old  woodcuts  in  Oviedo's  *'Historia."  In  the  first 
edition  of  this  old  book,  now  rare  and  costly,  pub- 

[43] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

lished  in  Seville  only  a  few  years  after  the  Conquest, 
there  are  quaint  pictures  showing  the  manners  and 
customs  of  the  natives  as  the  Spaniards  first  found 
them:   their  thatched  huts,  their  cabins  perched  in 
the  tree  tops,  their  strange  animals  and  queer  fish, 
and  their  various  primitive  boats.    Here  in  this  har- 
bour of  Paita  these  self-same  craft  were  coming  out 
to  meet  us — dugouts  filled  with  fruit  and  manned  by 
single  Indians,  balsas  of  cabbage-wood  (a  light  timber 
common  to  Ecuador  and  Colombia)  like  those  that 
brought  the  friendly  caciques  to  greet  Pizarro,  and 
larger  rafts,  rigged  with  square  sails,  that  ferried 
him  and  his  little  army,  horses  and  all,  from  Puno 
to  Tumbez,  only  a  few  miles  distant  in  the  Gulf  of 

Guayaquil. 

But  now  another  flotilla  approached  us;  this  time 
row-boats  of  more  modern  type,  painted  like  those  of 
Naples,  blue  and  green,  with  the  fleteros  or  boatmen, 
the  sharks  of  the  coast,  who  row  you  ashore  for  what- 
ever they  can  make,  but  are  no  better  and  no  worse 
than  their  prototypes  in  Mediterranean  waters. 

We  landed,  and  upon  the  dock  found  Indian  women 
in  black  mantas  selling  green  paroquets  and  gaudy 
parrots  and  the  strange  tropical  fruits  with  which  we 

[44] 


DOWN  THE   WEST   COAST  TO  PERU 

were  soon  to  grow  so  familiar.     We  walked  to  the 
Plaza,  set  out  with  palms  and  dominated  by  the 


Native  Boats,  Paita 


towers  of  its  church,  a  queer  Hispano-Moorish  affair 
in  which  a  black-robed  congregation  was  listening  to 
low  mass. 

We  looked,  too,  into  the  Gran  Hotel  Pacifico,  where, 
in  its  dining-room,  we  found  quite  the  strangest  ceil- 
ing decoration  that  we  had  ever  seen.  It  was  painted 
by  some  man  of  real  ability,  not  at  all  the  same  per- 

[45] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

son  who  had  daubed  the  crude  marines  upon  the  walls, 
but  a  man  who  understood  his  art.  Yet  his  subject 
was  worthy  of  a  neo-impressionist.  In  the  corners 
parrots  and  gaudy  butterflies  disported  themselves, 
while  eggs  and  fruits  lay  about  in  salvers,  but  the 
dominant  note,  the  raison  d'etre,  of  the  ceihng  was  an 
enormous  lobster,  some  fifteen  feet  across,  that  spread 
its  vermihon  claws  and  nippers  in  all  directions,  em- 
bracing parrots  and  fruits,  eggs  and  salvers,  in  its  all- 
consuming  clutches. 

Paita  is  really  a  very  old  settlement,  dating  from 
colonial  days.  Yet  a  walk  among  its  streets  discloses 
only  the  most  ephemeral  constructions,  flimsy  beyond 
belief — houses  built  of  dry  bamboo  thinly  covered 
with  plaster  and  mud,  so  thinly  covered,  indeed,  that 
one  can  look  through  the  cracks  and  chinks  into  the 
rooms  themselves.  The  whole  fabric  would  crumble 
away  in  an  instant  at  the  first  hint  of  rain.  But  rain 
comes  to  Paita,  according  to  legend,  only  once  in 
twenty  years.  Notwithstanding,  Paita  is  the  wettest 
place  on  the  Peruvian  coast.  Thence  southward  for 
hundreds  of  miles  to  the  distant  coast  of  Chili,  be- 
tween the  Andes  and  the  sea,  it  never  rains,  though 
clouds    sometimes  form,   and   at   certain   seasons   a 

[46] 


DOWN  THE   WEST   COAST  TO  PERU 

sort  of  heavy  mist,  the  camanchaca,  hangs  over  the 
land  for  weeks  at  a  time. 

We  weighed  anchor  after  hmcheon,  and  all  the  af- 
ternoon skirted  the  sandy  desert  of  Sechura,  whose 
yellow  dunes,  backed  by  lavender  mountains,  termi- 
nate at  times  in  rocky  headlands  shaped  like  ruined 
castles  and  spotted  with  guano. 

This  was  the  desert  that  Pizarro  and  his  men 
traversed  after  landing  at  Tumbez.  On  its  outer 
confines  they  founded  San  Miguel  di  Piura,  and 
after  five  months'  halt  decided  to  push  on  toward 
the  mountains,  leaving  the  coast  and  their  ships 
behind  them,  braving  the  dangers  of  an  unknown 
country  swarming  with  savages.  How  they  sur- 
mounted this  mountain  rampart;  how,  armour-clad 
and  leading  their  foot-sore  horses,  they  finally 
threaded  its  rocky  defiles;  how  they  supported  the 
rigours  of  cold  and  exposure  at  the  summit  after  the 
warm,  tropical  air  of  the  coast;  how,  only  two  hun- 
dred strong,  they  seized  the  Inca  at  Cajamarca  in 
face  of  his  fifty  thousand  warriors,  will  ever  be  mat- 
ters of  marvel. 

We  reached  Eten  early  next  morning.  A  more 
desolate  spot  could  scarcely  be  imagined.    Sky,  sea, 

[47] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

a  long,  sheer,  sandy  bluff,  an  iron  mole,  and  that  was 
all.    What  town  there  is  must  lie  behind  the  dunes. 

From  each  of  these  coast  ports,  desolate  as  they 
may  appear,  railroads  run  inland,  sometimes  far, 
sometimes  only  for  a  short  distance.  From  the  looks 
of  the  coast  one  wonders  where  they  run  to,  little 
suspecting,  as  we  afterward  found,  the  prolific  val- 
leys that  open  behind,  teeming  with  vegetation 
wherever  water  can  be  found. 

Harbours  there  are  none  from  Guayaquil  to  Callao, 
the  ships  anchoring  about  a  half-mile  off  shore,  a  fact 
that  in  these  peaceful  waters  entails  neither  the  dis- 
comforts nor  inconveniences  that  it  does  on  other 
coasts.  Here  at  Eten  we  hoisted  our  new  passengers 
aboard  in  a  sort  of  car  like  those  used  in  roller- 
coasters,  four  people  at  a  time.  Freight  is  trans- 
ferred in  lighters  which  they  call  lanchas.  Even 
before  we  had  been  "received"  by  the  captain  of  the 
port,  several  of  these  could  be  seen  approaching  us. 

How  can  I  describe  them?  They  are  about  the 
size  of  a  seagoing  schooner.  Five  heavy  beams  laid 
across  the  bow  form  seats  for  ten  men,  whose  brawny 
arms  and  well-developed  deltoids  and  pectorals 
would  do  honour  to  trained  athletes.     Their  type — 

[48] 


DOWN  THE  WEST  COAST  TO  PERU 

the  broad,  flat  face,  the  high  cheek-bones,  the  nar- 
row eyes,  set  atilt,  and  the  drooping  moustache — 
plainly  show  their  descent  from  the  Chimus,  that 
strange  Chinese  race  whose  civilisation  seems  to  have 
centred  about  Trujillo,  somewhat  farther  down  the 
coast.  Clad  only  in  jerseys  and  trousers,  bare- 
headed or  shaded  by  wide-rimmed  straw  hats,  each 
lays  hold  of  a  gigantic  sweep,  five  on  a  side.  And 
how  they  row,  wing  and  wing,  throwing  the  whole 
weight  of  their  mighty  frames  upon  the  oars,  rising 
in  their  seats  till  standing — the  only  boatmen  I  ever 
saw  who  suggested  the  galley-slave  of  the  Egyptians 
or  the  men  who  manned  the  Roman  triremes! 

It  is  only  a  three  hours'  run  from  Eten  to  Pacas- 
mayo.  On  the  way  you  catch  glimpses  of  higher 
mountains,  buttresses  of  the  Coast  Cordillera,  and  by 
the  shore  see  little  groups  of  fishing-huts  clustered  in 
the  coves.  W^e  had  thought  the  frail  balsas  of  Paita 
the  most  daring  of  seagoing  craft,  but  now  we  came 
upon  others  more  daring  still — the  caballitos  (little 
horses),  tiny  boats  but  six  or  eight  feet  long  that, 
at  a  distance,  look  like  the  forward  end  of  a  gondola. 
They  are  made  of  two  cylinders  of  straw  lashed  to- 
gether and  diminishing  toward  the  prow,  where  they 

[49] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

tilt  sharply  upward.  The  lone  fisherman  sits  astride 
of  them,  his  feet  dangling  in  the  water  at  either  side, 
and  thus  he  puts  to  sea,  a  sort  of  Triton  bestriding 
his  sea-horse. 

Pacasmayo  lies  in  a  wide-open  roadstead  enclosed 
by  golden  sand  hills,  behind  which  rise  chains  of  lofty 
mountains,  a  long  wall  of  blue,  deceptive,  apparently 
peaceful  and  soft  in  the  distance,  but  jagged  and 
precipitous  at  closer  quarters  and  traversed  only  by 
mule-paths.  Yet  should  I  like  to  have  crossed  them, 
for  beyond  their  lofty  summits,  hidden  in  a  lovely 
valley,  lies  Cajamarca,  alluded  to  above,  the  "  City 
of  Atahualpa's  Ransom,"  the  Inca  town  that  played 
so  important  a  part  in  the  story  of  the  Conquest. 

Another  quiet  night  on  shipboard  sleeping  with 
that  dreamy  contentedness  that  comes  over  one  on 
a  calm  sea,  and  at  dawn  the  following  morning  we 
were  anchored  off  Salaverry,  the  most  picturesque  of 
the  ports  we  had  yet  seen.  The  sun  was  just  rising 
in  a  film  of  clouds.  Behind  the  dunes  that  clasped 
the  bases  of  the  mountains  in  a  firm  embrace  rose 
the  ranges  of  the  Andes,  fold  upon  fold,  first  the  foot- 
hills, purple-clad,  then  the  fainter  Coast  Cordillera, 
and  finally,  blue  and  distant,  the  Black  Cordillera. 

[  50  ] 


DOWN  THE  WEST  COAST  TO  PERU 

But  the  Cordillera  Real,  the  royal  range  of  towering 
peaks,  is  not  for  the  wayfarer  by  the  coast.  Once  in 
a  while  on  a  clear,  calm  evening  toward  sunset  a 
gleaming  snow-capped  peak  may  be  descried  like  a 
cloud  in  the  sky,  but  otherwise  these  mountain  giants 
jealously  guard  their  summits  for  the  pilgrims  to 
their  shrine.  Soon  we  were  to  become  such  pilgrims 
and  see  for  ourselves  the  glories  of  their  mighty 
heights. 

We  landed  at  Salaverry  and  were  delighted  with 
the  broad  strand,  worthy  of  an  Ostend  or  a  Brighton, 
that  stretches  in  a  wide  curve  off  toward  Trujillo, 
founded  by  Pizarro  and  named  by  him  for  his  birth- 
place in  Estremadura,  whose  white  domes  and  towers 
lay  some  miles  distant  like  a  mirage  of  the  Orient 
among  palms  and  verdant  valleys. 

Salaverry  itself  is  a  low,  one-storied  affair  whose 
broad,  straight  sandy  streets  with  their  wooden 
houses  are  strongly  reminiscent  of  some  of  our 
Western  frontier  towns.  Yet  Spanish  civilisation  has 
put  a  picturesque  impress  upon  it — upon  its  windows 
with  their  iron  rejas;  upon  its  broad  verandas  barred 
with  screens  and  used  as  outdoor  rooms;  and  upon 
the  life  of  its  streets,  where  women  in  black,  half 

[51] 


PACIFIC   SHORES   FROM  PANAMA 

hidden  in  sombre  doorways,  call  to  the  aguador  as  he 
peddles  his  donkey-load  of  water  from  door  to  door, 
and  half-naked  street  urchins  vend  chirhnoyas  and 
alligator  pears  at  the  street-corners. 


A  Grated  Veranda,  Salaverry 


Upon  the  beach  the  fishermen  mend  their  nets 
near  the  cahallitos  drying  in  the  sun  that  stand  erect 
against  gaily  painted  fishing-smacks.  It  was  a  Sun- 
day morning,  so  the  strand  was  dotted  with  bathers, 
diving  in  the  surf  or  chasing  each  other  in  wild  races 

[52] 


The  Aguador  Peddles  His  Donley-Load  of  Water 


DOWN  THE   WEST   COAST  TO  PERU 

across  the  hard-packed  sand,  among  them  the  chil- 
dren of  the  British  vice-consul,  the  only  foreigners 
upon  the  scene. 

Again  we  weighed  anchor  after  lunch,  and  as  we 
sailed  southward  the  coast  grew  more  and  more 
majestic.  Never  a  note  of  green,  to  be  sure,  but,  by 
compensation,  behind  the  fringe  of  golden  sand  that 
skirts  the  sapphire  sea,  range  upon  range  of  moun- 
tains, always  varied,  ever  broken  into  a  thousand 
cones  and  pinnacles  and  as  changeable  in  hue  as  a 
chameleon,  flecked  by  fleecy  cloud  shadows  through 
the  whole  gamut  of  greys,  lavenders,  and  purples. 
At  times  the  dunes  would  break  as  at  Chimbote  and 
inland  valleys  open  green  as  gardens.  Toward  even- 
ing the  level  sun  rays  warm  these  ashen  mountains, 
burnishing  them  like  bronze,  and  their  deep  que- 
hradas  and  rocky  gorges  by  contrast  are  plunged  into 
indigo  shadows  of  a  strength  and  intensity  quite  be- 
yond belief. 

Occasionally  islands  whitened  with  guano  lie  upon 
the  sea,  and  upon  them  nest  myriads  of  birds,  and 
along  the  water's  edge  flocks  of  glistening  sea-lions 
bark  and  snarl  and  wriggle  and  fight  or  disport  them- 
selves in  the  surf.  Our  captain  took  us  quite  close 
to  one  of  these  islets — so  close,  indeed,  that  with  the 

[53] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

naked  eye  we  could  plainly  see  the  innumerable  birds, 
both  shags  and  murre,  that  peopled  its  honeycombed 
pinnacles.  Just  as  we  passed  he  blew  two  mighty 
blasts  upon  the  siren,  and  every  seal  threw  itself 
headlong  into  the  sea,  while  the  birds  in  one  enor- 
mous cloud  that  darkened  the  sun  left  their  nests, 
flying  far  out  to  sea — a  mist  of  golden  dust  rising 
from  the  island  raised  by  the  whir  of  their  countless 
wings. 

For  the  first  time  in  several  days  no  land  was  in 
sight  the  following  morning.  But  by  ten  o'clock  the 
long,  tawny  hills  of  San  Lorenzo  Island  appeared 
above  the  horizon,  and  we  made  Callao  harbour 
within  an  hour.  There  lay  a  great  variety  of  ship- 
ping, from  the  clean,  white,  Enghsh-built  cruisers  of 
the  Peruvian  navy  and  the  smart  "home-boats"  of 
the  Pacific  Steam  Navigation  Company  to  old  hulks 
anchored  to  the  northward,  whose  only  passengers 
or  crew  were  the  gulls  and  pelicans  that  settled  in 
their  rigging  or  perched  along  their  decks. 

Our  steamer  was  immediately  surrounded  by  a 
swarm  of  small  boats,  each  manned  by  a  shouting 
crowd  oijleteros,  that  made  a  gay  and  brilliant  scene, 
painted  in  the  brightest  colours  and  covered  with 
awnings  not  unlike  those  used  upon  the  Italian  lakes. 

[54] 


DOWN  THE   WEST   COAST  TO  PERU 

We  went  ashore  with  friends  in  the  company's 
motor-launch,  got  through  the  customs  quickly,  and 
soon  were  in  the  train  bound  for  Lima,  only  eight 
miles  distant. 

I  rubbed  my  eyes  as  we  sped  along.  Was  I  in  Peru 
in  early  March  or  in  California  in  September.'^  It 
was  surely  the  end  of  summer,  for  here  were  fields  of 
ripened  corn,  there  venders  of  luscious  grapes.  The 
cattle  grazing  in  the  parched  fields,  the  Rimac  roar- 
ing over  its  stony  bed,  the  tawny  shores  of  San  Lo- 
renzo wreathed  with  fog  like  the  Contra  Costa  hills, 
the  files  of  eucalypti,  even  the  whistle  of  the  Ameri- 
can-built locomotive  and  the  clang  of  its  bell,  re- 
called like  magic  the  country  that  surrounds  the 
Bay  of  San  Francisco  or  hides  in  the  depths  of  So- 
noma Valley. 

But  there  across  the  aisle  sat  a  major  in  his  Franco- 
Peruvian  uniform,  while  in  front  of  him  a  group  of 
young  subalterns  in  the  same  neat  clothes  conversed 
amiably  to  ladies  in  rather  boisterous  hats,  and  in 
the  coach  ahead,  second  class,  the  cholos  and  other 
mixed  races  that  we  could  see  proved  beyond  a 
doubt  that  we  were  in  Peru. 

[55] 


LIMA,  CITY  OF  THE  KINGS 


LIMA,  CITY  OF  THE  KINGS 

I  IMA  is  a  flat  city  whose  straight,  wide  streets  are 
as  regular  in  plan  as  those  of  any  metropolis 
^  of  the  New  World.  Pizarro  is  said  to  have 
laid  it  out,  and  if  he  did  so  he  used  a  T-square  and  no 
imagination,  merely  leaving  one  empty  block  in  the 
centre  for  a  Plaza  de  Armas.  Like  all  cities  built 
upon  this  checker-board  system,  it  lacks  both  the  pic- 
turesqueness  and  charm  of  the  mediaeval  town  and 
the  dignity  and  stateliness  of  the  modern  city  whose 
converging  streets  meet  to  frame  views  of  important 
monuments. 

Despite  this  drawback,  however,  Lima  has  a 
physiognomy  all  its  own.  Throughout  the  colonial 
period  it  was  the  capital  of  the  Spanish-American 
colonies,  the  residence  of  the  viceroy  and  of  the 
nobility.  Hence  it  contains,  more  than  any  other 
South  American  city,  notable  examples  of  Hispanic 
architecture  little  suspected  by  the  average  tourist. 

[59] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

The  streets,  too,  have  distinct  individuahty,  im- 
parted to  a  great  extent  by  the  halcones,  adaptations 
of  the  Oriental  moucharaby,  or  mirador,  often  elab- 
orately carved,  that  project  from  the  upper  story  of 
almost  every  house,  far  out  over  the  sidewalks,  some- 
times occurring  uninterruptedly  for  blocks  at  a  time. 
They  are  most  practical,  allowing  the  air  to  pass 
freely  to  the  rooms  within,  yet  screening  the  house 
walls  from  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun.  The  people, 
especially  the  women,  hve  upon  them,  flitting  be- 
hind their  long  rows  of  windows  as  they  pass  from 
room  to  room  or  leaning  over  the  rail  to  watch  the 
life  in  the  streets  below.  The  shops,  too,  are  peculiar, 
being  without  fronts — wide  open  during  the  daytime 
and  closed  by  long  series  of  folding  wooden  doors  at 

night. 

Much  interest  is  also  imparted  to  these  streets  by 
the  stately  palaces,  mostly  dating  from  the  viceregal 
period,  that  are  encountered  in  all  the  principal  thor- 
oughfares. They  present  a  rather  forbidding  aspect, 
with  their  great  walls  pierced  only  by  a  few  barred 
windows  and  by  their  monumental  porte-cocheres. 
But  look  through  one  of  these  vast  doorways,  and  all 
is  gaiety  within.    In  an  instant  you  are  transported 

[60] 


LIMA,  CITY  OF  THE  KINGS 

to  Spain  and  the  sunlit  courts  of  Andalusia.  Here 
the  same  patios,  washed  with  pale  pastel  tones  and 
paved  with  tiles  or  coloured  marbles,  bask  in  the 


' Balcones,"  Lima 


V-C,.Tr.     11.1. 


sunlight,  decked  with  palms  and  oleanders  screened 
behind  iron  gratings  of  intricate  and  artistic  work- 
manship. Through  pavilions  at  the  rear  you  catch 
glimpses  of  other  gardens  beyond.  The  whole  scheme, 
cool,  airy,  framing  the  peep  of  blue  sky  overhead, 

[61] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

seems  singularly  well  adapted  to  this  land  of  soft  sun- 
shine. 

The  Plaza  is  a  handsome  square,  well  paved, 
neatly  kept,  and  adorned  with  beautiful  tropical  gar- 
dens set  with  flowers  and  stately  palms,  and  ornate 
lamp-posts  supporting  arches  of  lights  for  festivals. 
It  is  surrounded  on  two  sides  by  portales,  or  arcades, 
lined  with  shops.  The  third  side  is  occupied  by  the 
palace  and  the  fourth  by  the  cathedral. 

This  last  is  not  as  interesting  as  some  of  the  other 
great  Peruvian  churches.  It  was  apparently  made 
over  in  the  last  century,  when  a  wave  of  classic  re- 
vival swept  away  many  of  the  picturesque  plater- 
esque  constructions  of  the  Latin-American  churches 
and  substituted  cold  Roman  columns  and  arches  for 
the  elaborate  pediments  and  richly  carved  surfaces 
of  the  Churrigueresque  artists.  So  now  the  cathedral 
lacks  much  of  that  interest  that  one  expects  to  find 
in  a  building  of  its  age.  The  interior,  too,  suffers  at 
first  sight  from  the  same  cause,  yet  upon  closer  in- 
vestigation the  choir  and  chapels  yield  notable  works 
of  art.  There  are,  for  example,  the  massive  silver  high 
altar  and  the  rarely  beautiful  silleria,  rows  of  richly 
carved  stalls  ornamented  with  good  statues  of  saints 

[62]  . 


Lima  Cathedral  from  the  Bodegones 


LIMA,   CITY  OF  THE  KINGS 

and  apostles  enshrined  in  ornate  canopies  or  framed 
in  elaborate  panelling — all  done  in  cedar  wood  after 
the  best  Hispanic  traditions.  The  Chapel  of  the 
Purissima,  too,  is  a  fine  piece  of  plateresque  not  yet 
debased  by  the  barocco,  and  we  discovered  in  the 
sacristy  a  delightful  Httle  Moorish  fountain  of  ala- 
baster, the  glint  of  whose  tiles  in  the  penumbra  and 
the  splash  of  whose  water  in  the  silence  recalled  to 
us  some  inner  court  of  the  Alhambra. 

In  the  Chapel  of  the  Virgen  Antigua,  under  the 
benign  eyes  of  a  placid  Virgin  and  Child  sent  over 
from  Spain  by  Charles  V,  a  modest  white  casket  with 
open  glass  sides  contains  the  remains  of  that  won- 
derful ruffian,  that  intrepid  conquistador,  Francisco 
Pizarro.  As  I  looked  at  his  dried  bones  and  mummi- 
fied flesh  exposed  thus  publicly  to  the  gaze  of  the 
curious,  lying  upon,  but  in  no  way  shrouded  by,  a 
bed  of  purple  velvet,  his  entrails  in  a  bottle  at  his 
feet,  I  wondered  if  it  was  with  design  that  his  re- 
mains are  so  displayed.  Is  it  mere  chance  that  this 
poor  tomb  is  all  that  marks  his  final  resting-place.'* 
Is  it  by  mere  neglect  that  no  monument  to  him  (at 
least  to  my  knowledge)  exists  in  all  Peru? 

During  the  last  stormy  days  of  his  life  he  occupied 

[63] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

the  palace  that  he  built  across  the  Plaza.    This  vast, 
rambling  pile  is  worthy  of  a  visit,  not  merely  because 
it  is  the  actual  residence  of  the  President,  the  White 
House  of  Peru,  but  because  of  its  historic  associations. 
A  big  doorway,  where  a  company  of  soldiers  al- 
ways mounts  guard,  admits  to  an  outer  court,  vast 
in  scale,  across  which  you  reach  a  stairway  that  leads 
to  a  broad  upper  corridor,  severely  chaste,  white  and 
fresh,   and   open   to   the   sky  throughout  its  entire 
length.     A  series  of  apartments  leads  off  on  either 
hand,  and  sentinels  challenge  you  at  each  door,  for 
revolutions  are  frequent.    But  under  the  guidance  of 
the  President's  chief  aide-de-camp,  a  colonel  of  dis- 
tinction and  courtly  manners,  we  visited  in  turn  the 
various  reception-rooms,  with  their  ornately  gilded 
furniture  of  the  viceregal  period,  and  saw  the  vice- 
roy's throne  that  still,  standing  under  its  baldaquin 
but  shorn  of  its  imperial  ornaments,  does  duty  for 
the  President.    We  admired,  too,  the  proportions  and 
acoustics  of  the  long  banquet-hall,  a  bit  shabby,  per- 
haps, but  hemmed  in  between  two  of  the  lovely  trop- 
ical gardens  that  are  incorporated  within  the  palace 
walls,  some  of  their  ancient  fig-trees,  we  were  told, 
dating  from  the  days  of  Pizarro. 

[64] 


('■ 


'.^-J    v' 


•l,.-A 


.V        ''^^-K  e^/-.   ^--    -"^N   '  -:,  -v^p,  ^   -rs 


V 


%;•"' 


i5?s-  ■■'..  6, 


''''HS^-. 


Jn  the  President's  Garden 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

The  apartments  that  he  occupied  open  upon  an 
inner  corridor,  long  and  narrow,  down  which  the  old 
lion  at  bay  fought  Rada's  men,  single-handed,  to- 
ward the  street  and  safety.  At  the  foot  of  its  last 
step  you  are  shown  a  small  white  stone  that  is  said 
to  mark  the  spot  where  he  fell,  wounded  to  the  death, 
and  where,  dipping  his  finger  in  a  pool  of  his  own 
blood,  he  traced  a  cross  upon  the  ground,  expiring 
as  he  kissed  it. 

I  had  the  rare  good  fortune,  while  in  Lima,  to  pro- 
cure as  my  cicerone  a  certain  police  commissioner 
(that  is  the  best  translation  I  can  make  of  his  title) 
who  knew  every  corner  of  the  capital  and  apparently 
every  one  in  it.  Whether  in  the  halls  of  the  Presi- 
dent's palace,  or  the  grim  corridors  of  the  peniten- 
tiary, or  the  dark  aisles  of  the  churches,  he  seemed 
equally  at  home,  and  every  one  treated  him  as  a 
friend.  His  kindness  was  of  great  value  to  me,  for, 
strange  as  it  may  seem,  there  exists  no  guide-book 
to  Lima,  and  it  is  difficult  to  ferret  out  the  points 
of  interest. 

With  him  I  visited  the  monasteries,  and  was  cer- 
tainly surprised  by  what  I  found  in  them.  Nothing 
that  I  had  heard,  nothing  that  I  had  read,  had  pre- 

[GG] 


LIMA,   CITY  OF  THE   KINGS 

pared  me  for  what  I  saw,  for  they  have  been  strangely 
neglected  by  travellers.  Yet  to  my  mind  they  are 
among  the  chief  features  of  the  city — of  interest  both 
because  of  their  vast  extent  as  well  as  for  the  numer- 
ous art  treasures  that  they  contain. 

The  finest  belongs  to  the  Franciscans  and  faces 
upon  one  of  the  prettiest  little  squares  of  the  city, 
the  Plaza  of  San  Francisco.  To  visit  it  you  enter  a 
sort  of  vestibule  whose  lower  walls  are  completely 
covered  with  beautiful  Mudejar  tiles  in  which  little 
amorini  alternate  curiously  with  grim  deaths'  heads. 
Borders  of  deep  lapis  blue  frame  the  panels  and  com- 
pletely surround  the  great  doorway  that  occupies  one 
end  of  the  hall.  In  answer  to  a  knock  the  little 
wicket  opens,  a  few  words  are  exchanged,  the  heavy 
door  swings,  a  brown  friar  steps  back  to  let  you  pass, 
and  you  enter  another  world — a  world  of  seclusion 
and  quiet,  of  cloister  courts  with  brown  monks  mov- 
ing silently  about  or  digging  in  the  flower-beds,  of 
ancient  pictures  depicting  the  life  of  good  Saint  Fran- 
cis looking  down  from  their  golden  frames  upon  sun- 
lit gardens  filled  with  the  bright  bloom  of  the  tropics. 

It  would  be  quite  impossible  to  describe  the  laby- 
rinths of  this  convent's  courts,  the  varied  features  of 

[67] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

its  trinity  of  churches  and  its  thirteen  chapels  with 
their  carved  coros  and  gilded  altars.  But  its  chief 
interest  lies  in  the  beautiful  azulejos,  or  glazed  tiles, 
that  completely  cover  the  lower  walls  and  pillars  of  its 
cloisters.  These  date  mostly  from  the  early  years  of 
the  seventeenth  century  and  are  of  great  variety. 
Some  are  patterned  with  the  rich  designs  of  the  high 
Renaissance;  others  with  figures  of  brown-cowled 
monks;  others  again  with  heraldic  monsters  or  with 
those  intricate  arabesques  that  the  Moors  introduced 
into  Spain.  Moorish,  too,  is  the  beautiful  flattened 
dome  that  covers  the  main  stairway,  a  great  half- 
orange  of  cedar  w^ood,  unfortunately  now  falling  to 
decay,  but  still  retaining  enough  of  its  original  inlay 
of  ebony  and  bone  to  recall  its  pristine  glory. 

The  Dominicans  possess  an  equally  beautiful  mon- 
astery though  not  as  extensive  a  one.  It  is  the  oldest 
in  Lima,  and,  like  San  Francisco,  is  richly  adorned 
with  tiles  that  date  from  the  second  decade  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  many  of  them  evidently  de- 
signed expressly  for  the  convent,  depicting  scenes  in 
the  historv  of  the  Dominican  order. 

Through  the  upper  loggia  of  one  of  the  inner  courts, 
whose  rose-coloured  walls  act  as  a  foil  to  a  pale-green 

[08] 


<IN.  i 


^m'u 


\      I 


•■■.^^  N^5^~i« 


Cloister  of  San  Francisco,  Lima 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

fountain  in  the  centre,  you  reach  the  Hbrary,  a  quiet 
room  divided  by  arches  resting  upon  slender  columns. 
On  the  morning  of  my  visit  a  painter  was  graining  the 
shafts  of  these  columns  to  imitate  marble.  Several 
brothers  in  white  stood  watching  him,  their  shaven 
heads  and  intellectual  faces  (for  these  Dominicans 
are  of  a  studious  stamp)  making  an  attractive  pic- 
ture for  some  Vibert  or  Zamacois  against  the  golden 
background  of  parchment-covered  books  lit  by  the 
sunlight  that  filtered  through  the  leaded  windows. 
There  are  other  monasteries  of  lesser  note,  repeti- 
tions on  a  smaller  scale  of  these  great  ones. 

Of  Lima's  churches,  San  Pedro  makes  the  richest 
effect.  It  is  the  fashionable  church  of  the  city,  and 
its  dark  aisles,  with  their  deep-toned  paintings  set  in 
elaborate  gilded  frames,  their  polychrome  saints  and 
martyrs  looking  out  from  niches  charged  with  carv- 
ings that  wake  the  shadows  with  the  glow  of  their 
golden  ornaments,  their  retablos  toned  with  the 
smoke  of  incense  and  the  dust  of  years,  form  a  fine 
background  indeed  for  the  beautiful  women  that  fre- 
quent it — women  whose  pallid  faces  gleam  like  ivory 
from  beneath  the  lacy  folds  of  the  mantilla  or  the 
sombre  pleats  of  the  heavy  manta. 

[70] 


Patio  of  the  Torre  Tagle  Palace,  Lima 


LIMA,   CITY  OF  THE  KINGS 

The  palace  of  the  Torre  Tagles  without  doubt 
takes  precedence  over  all  the  secular  buildings  of  the 
city. 

Its  superb  balcones,  the  finest  in  the  city,  would 
alone  arrest  your  attention,  or  its  doorway,  the  best 
example  of  the  Churrigueresque  style  that  I  saw  in 
Peru.  You  may  or  you  may  not  like  this  form  of 
architecture,  with  its  bizarre  proportions,  its  broken 
pediments,  its  general  lack  of  organism,  but  the  mere 
bulk  of  this  entrance,  the  grandeur  of  its  scale  and  ab- 
sence of  finicky  detail  will  prepare  you  for  the  splen- 
did court-yard  within.  This  great  patio  is  reached 
through  a  deep  vestibule  where,  after  the  fashion  of 
Spanish  palaces,  steps  are  arranged  for  mounting  and 
dismounting  from  horses. 

The  court  itself  is  shaded  by  a  broad  projecting 
balcony  of  cedar  wood  left  without  paint  or  varnish, 
its  columns,  arches,  and  balustrades  richly  carved, 
and  its  supporting  corbels,  elaborate  and  intricate  in 
detail,  ornamented  with  heads  of  animals  and  men 
that,  though  Hispanic  in  design,  are  evidently  the 
handicraft  of  highly  skilled  Indian  workmen. 

A  broad  staircase,  whose  glazed  tiles  imitate  a  stair- 
rail  upon  the  one  hand,  while  its  mahogany  stair-rail 

[71] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

imitates  these  same  tiles  upon  the  other,  leads  to  the 
upper  balcony  where  the  main  apartments  open. 
These  are  spacious  and  handsome  and  still  contain 
much  of  their  antique  furniture  of  the  viceregal 
period,  among  other  things  two  superb  wardrobes, 
royal  objects  of  massive  design  completely  encrusted 
with  mother-of-pearl,  silver,  and  tortoise-shell,  the 
viceroy  of  Mexico's  w^edding  gift  to  an  ancestor  of 
the  family.  Handsome  portraits  of  gentlemen  in 
wigs  and  the  elaborately  embroidered  coats  and 
waistcoats  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  of  ladies 
in  the  voluminous  skirts  and  powdered  hair  of  the 
same  period,  complete  a  picture  of  aristocratic  life 
under  the  Spanish  regime. 

The  Torre  Tagles,  w^ho  counted  among  their  mem- 
bers two  viceroys  and  the  first  President  of  Peru, 
were  a  family  of  great  importance,  as  many  things 
about  the  palace  testify.  By  royal  grant,  a  pair  of 
cannon,  their  noses  planted  in  the  ground  at  either 
side  of  the  vestibule,  gave  right  of  asylum  to  any  one 
who  passed  between  them.  In  one  corner  of  the  patio 
a  heraldic  lion  carved  in  wood  supports  a  post  from 
which  hung  the  scales  that  weighed  the  gold  and 
silver  for  the  King's  troops,  the  head  of  this  family 

[72] 


LIMA,   CITY  OF  THE   KINGS 

having  been  for  centuries  paymaster  of  the  army  and 
navy.  The  great  collection  of  pictures  that  they 
owned,  once  the  most  notable  in  Peru,  is  now  being 
dispersed,  and  their  state  coach,  a  gilded  caleche 
worthy  of  the  royal  stables 
of  Madrid,  has  been  be- 
queathed to  the  National 
Museum,  where  it  now 
forms  the  central  object  in 
the  colonial  collection. 

This  National  Museum, 
with  the  National  Li- 
brary, and  San  Marcos 
University  founded  in 
1551,  the  oldest  in  the 
New  World,  form  the 
three  important  institu- 
tions of  learning  in  the 
capital. 

The  museum's  well-ordered  cases,  arranged  by  an 
enthusiastic  German  archaeologist,  afford  an  excellent 
opportunity  to  study  the  civilisation  of  the  Incas, 
containing,  as  they  do,  rare  picture  cloths  from  Tia- 
huanaco,  with  their  strange  conventionalised  figures 

[73] 


Weighing-Post  in  the  Torre  Tagle 
Palace 


PACIFIC   SHORES   FROM  PANAMA 

of  animals  and  men;  quaintly  fashioned  huacos 
(funeral  urns)  that,  like  the  Greek  and  Etruscan 
vases,  give  us  the  best  documents  we  have  of  the 
manners  and  customs  of  the  times;  and  row  upon 
row  of  those  strange,  seated  mummies  whose  knees 
touch  their  chins  and  whose  faces  are  covered  with 
masks  of  gold,  silver,  or  vicuna  cloth,  according  to 
their  social  standing. 

The  National  Library  is  again  of  importance.  I 
say  again,  for  during  the  Chilian  invasion  it  was  ruth- 
lessly looted  and  its  priceless  treasures  carried  off  by 
a  pack  of  vandals.  Now,  however,  through  the  un- 
remitting efforts  of  Don  Riccardo  Palma,  one  of 
the  most  brilliant  literary  lights  of  Latin  America, 
whose  **Recuerdos  de  Lima"  forms  the  classic  col- 
lection of  the  city's  tales  and  legends,  it  has  again 
attained  to  a  certain  degree  of  its  former  impor- 
tance. 

San  Marcos  University  looks  much  as  it  did  in 
colonial  days,  and  its  sunny  cloisters,  with  their  white 
arcades,  still  echo  the  footsteps  and  voices  of  students 
preparing  for  the  liberal  professions. 

It  is  in  one  of  the  populous  quarters  of  the  city — 
one  of  the  districts  where  you  may  still  see  some  of 

[74] 


LIMA,   CITY  OF  THE  KINGS 

the  curious  street  types  of  Lima :  the  aguador  vending 
his  water,  or  the  lechera  peddling  her  milk,  mounted 
high  upon  her  pillion,  a  Panama  hat  upon  her  head, 
her  huge  cans,  bound  in  calf-skin  sacks,  dangling  at 
either  side  of  her  ambling  pony.  Here,  too,  or  over 
in  the  Malambra  quarter,  near  where  the  favourite 
of  the  viceroy  Amat  dwelt  in  seclusion  in  the  Casa 
Perricholi,  you  will  find  the  vendors  of  chicha,  the 
national  drink,  women  who  smoke  cigars  and  carry 
bamboo  canes,  and  the  panaderos  who  cover  their 
bread-baskets  with  bright-red  parasols.  And  at  any 
time,  in  any  street,  you  may  meet  the  capeador, 
perhaps  the  most  characteristic  of  all  the  Lima  types, 
mounted  upon  his  pacing  pony  of  Arab  stock,  whose 
hair  saddle-cloths,  silver-mounted  bridle,  and  hous- 
ings over  the  tail  will  recall  the  trappings  of  the 
mediaeval  knights. 

The  business  streets  of  the  city  are  animated;  the 
better  shops  full  of  attractive  imported  articles,  es- 
pecially wearing  apparel,  for  the  women  are  smart 
and  well  dressed,  devoting  much  of  their  time  and 
attention — too  much,  perhaps — to  their  clothes.  If 
you  want  to  see  a  group  of  them,  go  in  the  winter 
season  to  the  race-course,  or  in  the  bathing  season, 

[75] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM   PANAMA 

December  to  April,  upon  a  Sunday  morning,  to  La 
Punta,  a  little  resort  reached  by  trolley. 

And  if  you  want  to  see  more  of  them  and  in  more 
attractive  surroundings,  go  some  Sunday  evening  to 
Barranco,  and  especially  to  Chorrillos,  where  a  broad 
promenade  skirts  the  sea.  The  scene  in  many  ways 
would  remind  you  of  some  lesser  resort  on  the  Riviera 
— the  broad  terrace  with  its  balustrades  and  seats, 
the  music  in  the  band-stand,  the  palm  gardens,  the 
villas  new  and  bright  overlooking  the  terrace,  and  the 
sea  among  whose  lazy  rollers  far  below  lies  the  yacht 
club  with  its  phantom  boats. 

With  a  bit  of  energy,  with  the  impetus  of  a  few 
enthusiastic  citizens,  Lima  could  be  made  most  at- 
tractive as  a  winter  resort.  When  the  Canal  is  opened, 
I  dare  say  it  will  become  one,  especially  when  some 
hotel  not  yet  in  existence,  but  soon  to  be,  I  hear, 
shall  have  been  constructed,  set  in  wide  gardens. 


[76] 


THE  OROYA  RAILWAY 


THE  OROYA  RAILWAY 


TO  THE  ROOF  OF  THE  WORLD 

jl  ND  then  there  is  the  Oroya  Railway. 

/\  What  city  in  the  world  can  boast  such  an 
-A.  A.  attraction  at  its  very  doors?  Where  else  can 
you,  in  the  short  space  of  a  few  hours,  ascend  from 
the  coast,  from  palms  and  mango  groves,  bananas 
and  tropical  gardens,  to  the  snow  and  ice  of  eternal 
winter,  to  heights  above  the  utmost  summit  of  Mont 
Blanc? 

All  this  is  possible  through  the  pluck,  ingenuity, 
and  indomitable  perseverance  of  a  certain  American 
promoter,  a  picturesque  figure  of  the  sixties,  Henry 
Meiggs.  He  it  w^as  who  conceived  this  gigantic 
scheme  to  scale  the  dizzy  steeps  of  the  Andes,  and  he 
it  was  who  carried  to  execution  this  first  railroad, 
and  the  only  one  that  crosses  these  icy  summits  at 

[79] 


PACIFIC   SHORES   FROM  PANAMA 

such  an  elevation,  to  this  day  the  "highest  railway 
in  the  world."  No  matter  what  else  you  may  see  in 
this  mundane  sphere  of  ours,  you  will  never  forget 
the  day  you  climbed  the  Oroya  Railway. 

We  made  the  trip  under  exceptionally  favourable 
auspices.  A  private  car,  most  comfortable  in  all  its 
appointments,  was  put  at  our  disposal,  and  in  it  we 
lived,  with  two  excellent  servants  to  care  for  us. 

Instead  of  leaving  Lima  by  the  early  morning 
train,  as  is  usually  done,  our  car  was  attached  to  the 
afternoon  passenger  and  left  at  Chosica  for  the  night, 
a  station  about  twenty-five  miles  distant  and  a  lit- 
tle less  than  three  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  used 
as  a  resort,  a  sort  of  cure  d'air,  by  the  Limanians. 
After  dinner  we  walked  about  its  streets,  and,  in  the 
semi-darkness  of  the  tropic  night,  enjoyed  its  villas 
set  in  palm  gardens,  their  windows  and  doors  wide 
open  and  the  occupants  sitting  upon  verandas  or 
chatting  in  the  brightly  lighted  drawing-rooms. 

As  I  awoke  in  the  early  morning  I  could  hear  our 
engine  breathlessly  climbing  from  height  to  height, 
puffing  like  a  winded  horse,  and  could  see  in  the  grey, 
dim  dawn  the  long  fingers  of  banana-trees  swaying  in 
the  breeze  and  the  clustered  palms  rustling  their  dry 

[  80  ] 


On  the  Oroya  Railway 


THE   OROYA  RAILWAY 

leaves.  Dark-blue  slaty  hills  shut  us  in,  and  at  the 
bottom  of  the  gorge  the  Rimac  stormed  along,  a 
roaring  torrent. 

As  it  grew  lighter  we  reached  the  first  switchback, 
the  only  device  used  on  this  wonderful  road,  standard 
gauge,  to  overcome  the  difficulties  of  climbing  the 
dizzy  heights.  Here,  too,  we  came  upon  the  first 
andeneSy  those  Inca  terraces  still  in  use,  irrigated  with 
painstaking  toil  by  canals  that  deflect  the  waters  of 
the  river  along  the  faces  of  the  cliffs.  Below  us  lay 
the  narrow  river  valley,  divided,  like  a  large  green 
relief  map,  into  states  and  territories  by  wriggly 
stone  walls,  and  dotted  here  and  there  with  cattle, 
impossibly  small. 

The  vegetation  was  changing.  Along  the  track 
grew  strange  cacti  whose  long  green  fingers  stood 
erect  and  serried  as  organ  pipes.  Loquats  and  figs 
and  masses  of  wild  heliotrope  were  still  to  be  seen, 
though  we  had  passed  the  six-thousand-foot  level. 

We  slowed  down  at  Matucana  while  the  engine 
took  a  drink,  and  we  had  a  glimpse  of  its  clean  little 
hotel  and  gaily  painted  houses  opposite  the  station. 
Two  Franciscan  friars  and  a  group  of  serranos,  moun- 
taineers, in  ponchos,   or  bright    skirts,   disappeared 

[81] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

within  the  Httle  pink  church  for  early  mass.  Early 
mass!  And  we  had  already  climbed  more  than  a 
mile  in  altitude  that  morning. 

But  we  were  only  beginning  our  ascent.  Our  en- 
gine, having  caught  its  breath  and  greased  its  joints, 
started  again  to  puff  and  snort  and  haul  us  from 
switchback  to  switchback.  In  the  next  ten  miles  we 
attained  the  ten-thousand-foot  level,  and  as  I  looked 
on  the  one  hand  at  the  dullish  purple  cliffs  with  their 
varied  stratifications  and  at  the  deep-red  ones  op- 
posite, I  thought  of  the  Colorado  Midlands  and  of 
the  splendours  of  Marshall  Pass,  and  of  the  time, 
years  ago,  when  the  crossing  of  that  divide,  at  the 
same  altitude  that  we  now  were,  constituted  an  ac- 
complishment of  considerable  moment. 

From  our  observation  platform  at  the  rear  of  the 
train  we  looked  down  into  giddy  abysses  where  the 
Rimac  now  raced  in  a  succession  of  cascades,  while 
above  us  towered  great  crags  covered  with  tunas 
and  cacti.  Every  now  and  then  a  snow-peak  would 
appear,  touching  the  heavens.  The  sun  had  burst 
forth,  dispelling  the  morning  vapours.  We  penetrated 
into  a  region  of  glistening  granite  and  porphyry. 
The  Rimac  boiled  through  a  chasm  and  disappeared 

[82] 


The  Narrow  River  Valley  Like  a  Relief  Map 


THE   OROYA  RAILWAY 

into  a  cave.  Between  two  tunnels  we  breathlessly 
crossed  the  Infiernillo  Bridge — well  named  in  this 
chaos  of  Hades. 

The  air  became  decidedly  cooler,  not  to  say  cold, 
after  the  soft  warmth  of  the  coast,  and  the  mountain 
people  that  we  saw,  wrapped  in  shawls  and  woollens, 
showed  this  change.  At  the  next  station  w^e  spied 
the  first  llamas,  those  strange  Peruvian  beasts  of 
burden,  with  liquid,  scornful  eyes  and  ears  tipped 
with  red  worsteds,  silently  munching  by  the  track. 
In  an  instant  they  were  gone  as  we  sped  along  up- 
ward. What  walls  to  climb,  what  cliffs!  Switchback 
and  loop,  tunnel  and  bridge,  higher  and  ever  higher 
we  go!  In  the  next  two  miles  we  climbed  five  hun- 
dred feet;  after  that  three  thousand  more  in  but  fif- 
teen miles. 

We  had  now  ascended  to  a  bleak  and  stony  wilder- 
ness. The  mighty  Rimac  had  dwindled  to  a  tiny 
stream,  a  thread  of  water  but  a  few  feet  wide,  boil- 
ing over  the  rocks.  Vegetation  there  was  none.  Soft, 
fleecy  clouds  gathered  again  about  us,  and  here, 
nearly  fourteen  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  Pedro 
served  us  our  lunch.  It  was  no  common  experience,  I 
assure  you,  to  partake  of  so  delicate  a  repast  almost 

[83] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

three  miles  above  the  sea :  alhgator  pears  at  the  begin- 
ning, fresh-picked  that  morning  at  Chosica,  chirimo- 
yas  and  wonderful  Italian  grapes  from  lea  at  the  end, 
and  in  between  fresh  green  corn,  though  it  was  the 
month  of  March! 

And  what  a  panorama  from  the  window  before 
which  the  table  was  spread!  Oh,  the  grandeur  and 
the  beauty  of  colour  of  this  high  Cordillera,  its  dark 
greys  spotted  by  golden  greens,  the  gamuts  of  reds 
and  ochres  and  chromes  of  the  great  coppery  moun- 
tains that  shut  us  in!  The  last  two  hundred  feet 
of  altitude  was  apparently  the  steepest  grade — the 
greatest  strain  of  all — for  our  engine  snorted  con- 
tinuously and  stopped  to  catch  its  breath  and  get 
up  steam  again  to  fight  this  extraordinary  altitude. 
Again  we  looked  into  bottomless  pits;  again  we 
passed  through  tunnel  after  tunnel,  and  at  last 
emerged  upon  the  verge  of  Lake  Ticlio — a  pale-green 
mirror  of  murky  water,  barren  as  a  landscape  on 
the  moon.  Beyond  it  rose  bald  snow-peaks,  gaunt 
and  desolate.  Breathless,  we  had  reached  the  sum- 
mit of  the  pass  up  above  the  clouds,  again  in  the 
sunshine. 

At   Ticlio   our   car   was   detached   and   we   were 

[84] 


THE   OROYA  RAILWAY 

switched  off  on  the  Morococha  branch,  to  begin  to 
climb  once  more.  Not  for  long,  however;  only  to 
Anticona,  a  desolate  spot  without  a  house  in  sight, 
but  the  highest  point  ever  yet  attained  by  any  rail- 
road, fifteen  thousand  eight  hundred  and  sixty-five 
feet  above  the  sea-level. 

The  frozen  peaks  of  the  Black  Cordillera,  seamed 
with  greenish  glaciers  and  deep  crevasses,  encom- 
passed the  lakes  of  Anticona,  one  green,  one  purple, 
below  which  other  lakes  in  the  clouds  at  times  ap- 
peared, then  hid  again  in  flying  vapours.  We  skirted 
each  of  these  lakes  in  turn,  one  after  the  other,  and, 
as  we  crossed  the  last  of  them  upon  a  narrow  cause- 
way, beheld  visions  of  others  still,  lower,  matchless 
in  colour,  about  which  the  ground  was  scratched  and 
rasped  by  greedy  human  hands  digging  in  the  copper 
mines  of  Morococha. 

Morococha  lies  in  a  valley  between  the  last  two 
lakes,  its  yellow-ochre  houses  scarcely  visible,  so  well 
do  they  harmonise  with  their  dark  surroundings.  We 
were  welcomed  at  the  station  by  two  American  en- 
gineers— strange  to  find  at  this  extraordinary  alti- 
tude. While  we  were  talking  to  them  a  loud  clap  of 
thunder    suddenly   broke   the    stillness,    the    clouds 

[85] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

gathered  thickly,  and  one  of  those  swift  Andean 
thunder-storms,  so  common  at  these  heights,  was  un- 
chained about  us.  What  deluges!  what  a  roaring  of 
the  elements!  For  our  return  journey  to  Ticlio  a 
transformation  had  taken  place.  The  snow  was  fall- 
ing heavily,  the  green  and  purple  lakes  had  now  be- 
come leaden  and  angry -looking,  and  the  peaks  and 
their  glaciers  were  enveloped  alike  in  a  thick  white 
mantle,  only  a  crag  or  two  emerging  here  and  there, 
like  the  black  tippets  upon  an  ermine  cloak. 

In  the  chaos  of  snorting  engine  and  warring  ele- 
ments, we  were  attached  at  Ticlio  to  a  lone  loco- 
motive and  proceeded  as  a  special  through  the  long 
Galera  tunnel  that  pierces  an  abutment  of  the  Monte 
Meiggs  (named  for  the  builder  of  the  road),  the  high- 
est point  on  the  main  line.  It  was  about  four  o'clock 
as  we  sped  down  the  eastern  slopes  to  the  great  cen- 
tral plateau  of  Peru,  through  a  perfect  avenue  of 
giant  mountains,  the  snow  falling  unceasingly  until 
it  changed  to  rain,  and  green  valleys  began  to  suc- 
ceed the  snow-fields.  At  six  o'clock  we  pulled  into 
Oroya  for  the  night. 


[86] 


II 

XAUXA  AND  HUANCAYO 

OROYA  proved,  by  the  morning  light,  to  be 
but  a  desolate  little  town  set  in  a  valley 
walled  about  by  high  grey  mountains  and 
drained  by  a  saffron-tinted  river  that  rushed  madly 
toward  the  south.  The  natives  peddling  vegetables 
in  the  street  or  huddled  about  the  station,  the  llama- 
trains  in  the  corrals,  the  quaint  music  of  a  primitive 
harp  that  floated  in  the  air  gave  us  a  foretaste  of 
what  we  were  now  setting  out  to  see:  the  market  at 
Huancayo. 

The  sun  did  not  top  the  great  bald  mountains  until 
nine  o'clock,  and  at  ten  we  drew  out  of  the  station  en 
route  for  Xauxa.  The  track  followed  the  course  of 
the  Mantaro  River,  descending,  as  it  did  so,  to  a 
succession  of  lower  valleys,  one  after  another,  that 
grew  richer  and  more  productive  as  we  sped  along. 
Here,  under  this  tropical  sun,  ten  to  eleven  thou- 
sand feet  seems  to  be  about  the  right  altitude.    This 

[87] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

the  Incas  realised,  for  the  principal  seats  of  their 
civilisation  lay  in  these  inland  valleys  hemmed  in  by 
the  mighty  Cordillera. 

Now,  at  the  end  of  the  rainy  season  (their  March 
corresponds  to  our  September),  all  was  lovely  and 
green.  Fields  of  alfalfa  succeeded  to  barley  patches, 
the  rocky  ledges  glowed  with  yellow  marguerites,  and 
spans  of  big  white  oxen  dragged  primitive  wooden 
ploughs  through  the  earth,  softened  by  rains.  In 
more  arid  spots  a  lonely  shepherdess  would  sit  with 
her  dog  watching  her  grazing  herd.  Cattle  and 
sheep  raising  is  the  chief  industry  of  the  country, 
for  the  hay  and  grass  continually  resows  itself. 

At  the  end  of  the  valley  lay  Llocllapampa,  an  old 
Quichua  town,  set  in  olive-groves  and  fields  of  wild 
mustard.  Beyond  it  we  ran  alongside  of  a  cactus- 
bordered  road  that  from  time  to  time  crossed  tor- 
rents pouring  down  from  the  mountains  to  swell  the 
mighty  Amazon.  This  was  the  sort  of  highway  that 
Pizarro  followed  when  he  marched  upon  Cuzco  from 
Caxamarca,  and  these  were  the  very  valleys  through 
which  he  passed,  whose  simple  natives  stood  amazed 
at  his  men  of  steel  bestriding  great  animals  beside 
which  their  llamas  looked  small  and  tame  indeed. 

[88] 


THE   OROYA  RAILWAY 

At  one  point  in  our  ride  some  sheep  and  cattle 
were   grazing    along   the   track    and    two   mounted 


y^-^^^m    4  {f   -^ 


>"■./ 


i\ 


rj. 


^^> 


-il     . 


i'   ^   ..V.Tt, 


Entrance  to  a  Corral,  Oroya 

herdsmen  in  vivid  ponchos  came  to  round  them  up, 
galloping  across  a  frail  bridge  that  rocked  and  swayed 
under  the  weight  of  their  horses,  being  slung  across 

[89] 


PACIFIC   SHORES   FROM  PANAMA 

the  chasm  only  by  means  of  willow  withes  like  those 
the  Incas  used  to  twist. 

But  the  Spanish  have  definitely  imposed  their  im- 
print on  the  land.  The  pink-roofed  villages  that  hug 
the  hillsides  are  true  bits  of  Spain;  the  cemeteries, 
walled  about  and  towered  at  the  corners,  are  Hispanic 
in  character,  and  the  haciendas  are  all  of  the  Span- 
ish type. 

Now  the  country  grew  wild  and  treeless  again,  and 
we  passed  through  a  gorge  mined  out  by  water  like  the 
Grand  Canyon  of  the  Colorado.  And  then,  in  a  veri- 
table oasis  of  eucalyptus  groves,  lying  in  the  broad 
valley  whose  richness  was  so  often  mentioned  by  the 
ancient  chroniclers,  we  came  upon  Xauxa  sunning  its 
pink-tiled  roofs  in  the  afternoon  light. 

The  station  lies  just  beyond  the  town,  and  is  walled 
about  and  enclosed  by  gates  like  most  of  the  principal 
depots  along  the  Peruvian  railways.  So  it  was  with 
pleasant  anticipation  that  we  looked  forward  to  a 
peaceful  night  in  our  comfortable  car  out  under  the 
stars  in  the  country. 

Dazzling  white  houses,  whose  broad  eaves  stretch 
out  to  shade  the  narrow  sidewalks,  border  the  streets 
that  lead  to  the  plaza — a  vast  square  out  of  all  pro- 

[90] 


THE   OKOYA  RAILWAY 

portion  to  the  low  buildings  that  surround  it  and  to 
the  market  uses  to  which  it  is  put.  It  was  none  the 
less  picturesque  with  its  wriggling  lines  of  vendors 


The  Plaza,  Xauxa 


squatting  in  the  shade  of  their  primitive  para- 
sols and  its  churches  and  public  buildings  ranged 
about  it. 

The  most  important  church  is  a  large  edifice  of  no 
special  architectural  interest,  being  a  sort  of  echo  of 
the  Cathedral  of  Lima.  But  its  interior  has  escaped 
restoration  and  makes  a  dignified  appearance  with 
its  white  walls  and  single  barrel-vault  that  frame  a 

[91] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

superb  reredos  occupying  the  entire  east  end  of  the 
church — one  of  those  amazing  structures,  gilded, 
painted,  and  ornamented  with  statues,  pictures,  col- 
umns, and  cornices  that,  in  this  case,  are  held  well 
within  bounds,  restrained,  and  fretted  by  the  rich 
but  flat  detail  of  the  plateresque  rather  than  the  wan- 
ton exuberance  of  the  baroque.  What  a  treasure- 
trove  for  some  museum,  this  fine  piece  of  Spanish  art 
hidden  in  the  mountains  of  Peru! 

With  some  difficulty  we  found  a  crazy  old  carriage 
to  drive  us  out  to  call  upon  a  charming  Spanish  fam- 
ily who  possess  a  villa  on  the  banks  of  a  lake  some 
distance  down  the  valley.  The  rough  road  led  off 
through  lanes  of  century  plants  into  the  open  coun- 
try. 

Now  we  could  see  the  hills  behind  the  town  crowned 
with  Inca  ruins — sole  remnants  of  the  very  consider- 
able Indian  town  that  once  played  so  conspicuous  a 
part  in  the  Wars  of  the  Conquest  and  the  civil  wars 
that  followed.  Here,  along  the  Mantaro,  the  Inca 
warriors,  relying  upon  the  width  of  the  river  as  a 
barrier,  made  their  first  determined  stand  against 
Pizarro  during  his  march  upon  Cuzco.  But  the  im- 
petuosity of  the  Spanish  riders,  whose  horses  plunged 

[92] 


THE   OROYA  RAILWAY 

into  the  stream,  swimming  and  wading  to  the  oppo- 
site bank,  soon  put  them  to  rout  and  sent  them  flee- 
ing toward  the  mountains. 

Here,  too,  at  Xauxa,  Pizarro  spent  many  anxious 
days  awaiting  news  of  De  Soto,  sent  ahead  to  recon- 
noitre; and,  further  to  add  to  his  troubles,  his  crea- 
ture, the  young  Inca  Toparca,  whom  he  had  set  upon 
the  throne  of  Atahualpa,  died,  a  victim,  it  was  sup- 
posed, of  poison. 

The  ride  to  the  lake  gave  us  a  pretty  glimpse  of 
this  valley  of  Xauxa  with  its  sheep  grazing  in  the 
meadows,  its  long  files  of  eucalypti  and  clusters  of 
tincurals,  and  its  flights  of  beautiful  birds,  eddying 
and  dipping  and  soaring  aloft  in  brilliant  yellow 
clouds — principally  hilgueros  and  trigueros — that, 
when  they  alighted  in  the  cactus-hedges,  sang  as 
sweetly  as  canaries. 

The  villa  that  we  visited  was  set  upon  the  very 
waters  of  the  lake,  the  long  reeds  brushing  the  ve- 
randa as  they  bowed  in  the  breeze.  The  air  was 
balmy,  like  a  lovely  day  in  spring — soft,  yet  with  a  de- 
licious tang  in  it.  A  little  removed  from  the  shore, 
a  group  of  flamingoes  stood,  pink  and  rosy,  one- 
legged  in  the  water.     The  children  were  presented 

[93] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 


for  our  inspection;  one  of  the  senoritas  "touched" 
the  piano;  we  were  offered  refreshments,  and  then 
before  sunset  started  back  for  the  town. 

At  dawn  next  morn- 
ing I  felt  a  bump  and 
then  reahsed  that  we 
were  moving.  Grey 
silhouettes  of  trees  and 
fainter  silhouettes  of 
mountains  flitted  past 
the  window. 

We  had  been  anxious 
to  see  the  great  market 
at  Huancayo,  and,   as 
there  is  no  train  on  Sun- 
day morning,  a  special 
engine  had  been  sent  up 
for  our  car,  so  that  we 
pulled  in  to  the  station 
before  seven  o'clock. 
In  spite  of  the  early  hour  all  was  in  a  bustle,  and 
when  we  walked  into  the  main  plaza,  what  a  sight 
met  our  eyes!    This  plaza,  surrounded  by  low  houses, 
forms  a  part,  as  it  were,  of  a  main  street  broad  enough 

[94] 


c  t.  r^  ^■c»'^»  •• 


A  Native  Family^  Huancayo 


THE  OROYA  RAILWAY 

for  a  metropolitan  boulevard,  yet  it  and  the  square 
were  a  compact,  seething  mass  of  humanity  and 
beasts.     They  told  us  that  there  were  between  ten 


Corner  of  the  Indian  Market,  Huancayo 

and    twelve   thousand    Indians    at   that   morning's 
market,  and  I  fully  believe  it. 

In  the  great  square  itself  the  men  stood  about  for 
the  most  part,  bartering  and  talking,  arrayed  in 
gaudy  ponchos  and  wide-rimmed  hats.  The  women 
were  sitting  in  circular  groups  upon  the  ground,  eat- 
ing their  morning  meal  of  steaming  food,  dipping  it 

[95] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

out  of  earthen  vessels  with  the  spoons  whose  handles 
pin  their  shawls  at  the  shoulder  like  the  Roman 
agrafes,  or  they  squatted  in  long  lines  from  end  to 
end  of  the  plaza,  forming,  with  their  bright  shawls, 
and  their  vivid  wares  wrapped  in  woven  bags  and 
blankets,  a  huge  crazy  quilt  covering  every  foot  of 
available  space. 

It  was  a  bewildering  scene  indeed,  this  multitude 
of  bright  colours,  relieved  against  the  low  houses  in 
whose  tiendas  men  and  women  sat  drinking  those 
tiny  glasses  filled  apparently  with  water,  but  in  real- 
ity with  the  fiery  alcohol,  almost  pure,  distilled  on 
the  sugar  plantations  along  the  coast.  At  one  end 
stood  a  great  mud-coloured  ruin — of  a  church,  I 
think,  with  sightless  windows  and  an  open  portal — 
around  whose  base  great  herds  of  llamas  and  donkeys 
stood  gathered  in  picturesque  confusion.  Down  the 
street  came  water-carriers,  staggering  along  among 
vendors  of  coca  and  bright  aniline  dyes  that  would 
delight  a  post-impressionist's  heart,  while  along  the 
curbs  sat  the  sellers  of  ollas  and  drinking-gourds,  of 
ponchos  and  saddles,  of  yellow  earthen  pottery  and 
big  vessels  for  cooking  the  chupe,  their  national  dish. 

Our  wanderings  finally  brought  us  to  the  far  end  of 

[90] 


THE   OROYA  RAILWAY 

the  main  street  just  in  time  to  see  the  garrison,  a 
battaHon  of  infantry,  march  out  of  its  barracks  with 
colours  flying  and  headed  by  its  band.  The  officers 
were  Peruvians  of  Spanish  descent,  but  the  rank  and 
file  seemed  entirely  of  Indian  origin.  They  marched 
well,  however,  and  looked  like  neat  and  self-respect- 
ing soldiers.  When  I  asked  why  they  paraded  thus 
during  the  full  market,  I  was  told  that  every  Sunday 
this  was  done  to  stimulate  interest  in  the  army  and 
show  the  Indian  youths  what  fine  fellows  they  would 
be  when  their  time  came  for  military  service. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  cracked  bells  of  the  church 
began  to  chime,  and  we  walked  back  to  the  little 
square  in  front  of  it.  Here,  nearly  twelve  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea,  sweet-peas  and  calla  hlies,  roses, 
dahlias,  and  geraniums  were  blazing  in  a  perfect  riot 
of  colour.  Inside  the  church  all  was  hus'ied  and  still. 
Women  in  black  rebosos,  or  gaily  coloured  shawls, 
sat  or  knelt  upon  the  stone  floor,  and  a  crowd  of  men 
stood  near  the  high  altar  where  three  officiants  were 
celebrating  low  mass. 

It  was  a  picture  of  quiet  dignity,  this  church  in- 
terior, the  groups  silhouetting  handsomely  against 
the  pale-tinted  walls  and  the  gilded  side-altars,  the 

[97] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

alcaldes  from  the  mountain  villages  standing  apart, 
leaning  upon  their  long  canes  bound  about  with 
silver,  badges  of  the  mayor's  office.  As  the  women 
removed  their  hats  to  cover  their  heads  with  shawls, 
coca  leaves  fell  fluttering  to  the  ground,  and  we 
noticed  many  of  them  wearing  these  same  leaves 
pasted  on  their  temples  to  deaden  headaches. 

We  were  asked  by  the  mayor  of  the  city  to  go  in- 
formally with  him  to  the  Club  Nacional,  my  wife  be- 
ing included  in  the  invitation,  though  she  was  the 
only  lady  present.  We  enjoyed  the  experience,  es- 
pecially the  Incaic  music  that  followed,  played  by  an 
Indian,  a  descendant  of  the  old  stock.  It  was  our 
first  opportunity  to  hear  these  weird  melodies,  so 
sad,  so  plaintive  in  tone,  so  strange  in  their  synco- 
pations, that  were  to  follow  us  wherever  we  went  in 
the  mountains.  He  played,  turn  by  turn,  the  old 
Inca  dances,  the  yaravis  sung  by  the  women,  and 
the  gay  marmeras  danced  nowadays  by  the  com- 
mon people  all  over  Peru.  What  an  interesting 
opera  could  be  woven  upon  these  themes,  with  the 
romantic  history  of  the  Incas  and  the  scenery  of  the 
country  and  quaint  customs  of  these  mountain  peo- 
ple as  a  background! 

[98] 


THE   OROYA   RAILWAY 

Some  of  the  Indian  women  are  quite  handsome, 
with  their  straight  noses,  full  lips,  and  bronze- 
coloured  skin,  smooth  and  soft,  that  glistens  in  the 
sun.  The  men,  too,  have  the  hardy  type  of  moun- 
taineers :  their  legs  bare,  fine,  and  strong,  their  chests 
deep,  and  their  heads  erect.  Though  dirty  person- 
ally, their  town  is  surprisingly  clean  for  an  isolated 
mountain  community. 

The  alcalde  dined  with  us  that  evening,  and  w^e 
had  an  interesting  discussion  of  Peruvian  politics. 

We  had  half  planned  to  visit  Santa  Rosa  de  Ocopa, 
a  monastery  in  the  mountains,  upon  our  return  jour- 
ney; but  that  did  not  prove  feasible,  so  we  proceeded 
directly  back  to  Oroya,  at  which  station  we  arrived 
several  hours  behind  our  schedule.  To  this  fact,  how- 
ever, we  owed  one  of  the  most  wonderful  impressions 
of  our  entire  trip :  the  crossing  of  the  pass  at  sunset- 

As  we  emerged  from  the  Galera  tunnel  that  pierces 
Mount  Meiggs  at  the  top  of  the  grade,  nearly  sixteen 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  great  clouds  piled  high 
about  the  summits  of  the  mountains,  whose  peaks, 
copper,  ashen,  silver,  or  coral,  stood  glistening  with 
eternal  glaciers.  As  we  started  down  the  grade  the 
evening  mists  began  to  rise,  hurrying  upward  from 

[99] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

gorge,  valley,  and  precipice  to  swell  the  gathering 
vapours — caught  by  winds  and  air  currents,  eddying 
hither  and  thither  like  the  fumes  from  a  witch's 
caldron.  In  these  flying,  ghost-like  forms  lakes  ap- 
peared and  disappeared  from  time  to  time,  hanging 
suspended,  as  it  were,  in  mid-air. 

Embattled  peaks  rose  enormous  through  the  fog, 
their  bulk  doubled  by  the  mist,  just  as  the  depth 
of  the  gorges  was  rendered  doubly  terrifying  by  the 
mystery  of  bottomless  pits  and  precipices  whose  bases 
were  swallowed  in  swirling  vapours. 

As  we  descended,  the  sun,  with  its  last  rays,  shot 
shafts  of  lurid  light  through  these  scurrying  mists 
that  thus  became  great  tongues  of  fire,  licking  the 
mountains  like  the  flames  of  a  giant  conflagration — 
a  Walhalla,  a  glorious  apotheosis  to  this  wonderful 
ride  in  the  Andes. 

We  passed  the  night  at  Matucana,  half-way  down 
the  grade,  and  in  the  morning  came  down  to  Lima, 
to  sea-level  and  the  warmth  of  banana  groves,  jas- 
mine, and  heUotrope  after  the  snow  and  ice  of  the 
mountains. 


[100] 


SOUTHERN  PERU 


SOUTHERN  PERU 


A  COAST  HACIENDA 

THE  Limari  of  the  Chilian  Line  took  us  in  a 
night  from  Callao  harbour  to  the  anchorage 
off  Cerro  Azul.  Before  us  lay  a  typical 
Peruvian  port,  barren  and  dry,  whose  bleak  sand 
hills  made  us  exclaim:  "Why  have  we  accepted  this 
kind  invitation  to  spend  a  week  in  this  desolate 
spot!" 

The  doctor's  boat  came  alongside,  and  presently 
the  chaloupa  of  the  port  captain  and  with  it  a  large 
lancia.  This  latter  intrigued  me,  for,  though  manned 
by  four  stalwart  oarsmen,  it  contained  no  cargo  of 
any  description.  Its  bottom  was  covered  with  a 
great  tarpaulin  on  which  stood  two  empty  chairs,  its 
sole  passenger  being  a  man  in  white  whose  bronzed 
face  was  shaded  by  a  cork  helmet.  I  was  wonder- 
ing how   we  would  get  ashore,  when  this  man  in 

[103] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

white  stepped  up  and,  introducing  himself,  asked  if 
we  were  not  the  expected  guests  of  Senor  H . 

He  proved  to  be  the  port  agent,  British  as  could  be, 
of  the  great  sugar  estate  for  which  we  were  bound, 
and  soon,  with  our  luggage,  we  were  comfortably  in- 
stalled in  the  two  chairs  upon  the  tarpaulin  and  were 
making  for  the  shore,  riding  the  surf  until  we  beached 
some  fifty  feet  or  so  beyond  the  dry  sand.  Several 
men  waded  out  for  the  luggage;  my  wife  was  put 
into  a  chair  carried  by  three  men,  while  I  was  told  to 
bestride  a  big  fellow's  shoulders  as  he  waded  ashore 
with  me.    A  queer  procession  we  must  have  made! 

Our  host  was  down  to  the  port  to  meet  us,  and 
presently,  after  a  comforting  cup  of  tea  in  the  agent's 
house  (it  was  yet  very  early  in  the  morning),  we  were 
put  into  a  carrito,  or  little  car  running  on  narrow- 
gauge  tracks  and  drawn  by  a  fat,  white  mule.  A 
Jap  lashed  up  the  animal,  constantly  shouting  "Mula, 
mula,"  as  we  sped  around  the  promontory  that  gives 
the  port  its  name — the  Blue  Hill. 

In  an  instant  the  whole  aspect  of  the  country 
changed  as  if  by  magic,  a  change  so  startling  that 
it  fairly  staggered  us — the  coast  desert  transformed 
in  a  moment  from  sandy  wastes  to  broad  cotton- 

[  104  ]       • 


'*»'8iaai»&.«;--:;^^"^-jE..  =■*•-%, 


"^^^^S^ 


-S^=»- ,--;r^., 


Landing  at  Cerro  Aziil 


SOUTHERN  PERU 

fields  and  acres  upon  acres  of  sugar-cane.  A  tall 
factory  chimney  loomed  up  in  the  distance;  then  a 
Japanese  village  with  its  temple  set  among  the 
banana-trees  came  into  view;  then  a  larger  native 
village;  and  finally  the  low,  rambling  hacienda,  an 
extensive  group  of  buildings  painted  Venetian  red 
and  enclosing  two  patios,  one  set  out  with  date- 
palms  and  a  fountain,  the  other  planted  with  flowers 
and  entwined  with  honeysuckle.  We  were  taken  to 
large  and  airy  rooms  that  faced  the  garden  and 
tennis-court,  with,  beyond,  a  fine  prospect  of  the 
sea,  calm,  placid,  and  blue  beyond  belief. 

It  was  now  only  nine  in  the  morning  (for  we  had 
made  a  very  early  start),  and  I  spent  the  remaining 
hours  until  luncheon  in  walking  through  the  sugar 
mill  with  my  host.  Santa  Barbara  is  a  very  big 
plant,  one  of  the  largest  on  the  West  Coast,  and 
thirty-five  miles  of  railroad  track  feed  its  capacious 
maw.  Train-load  after  train-load  of  cane,  the  "honey 
of  reeds,"  draws  up  to  the  factory  each  day  to  spill 
its  contents  upon  the  endless  chains  that  dump  them 
onto  the  crushing-mills.  Like  all  perfected  machin- 
ery of  this  day,  no  human  hand  touches  the  product 
until  the  finished  sugar,  one  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 

[105] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

sand  pounds  a  day,  is  sewn  into  sacks  and  put  on 
flat-cars  for  shipment  at  the  port. 

After  luncheon  we  started,  four  of  us,  in  the  carrito 
for  Casa  Blanca,  a  large  ranch  some  miles  distant, 
the  headquarters  of  the  cultivation  department. 
Here  we  found  horses  ready  saddled  and  soon  were 
riding  off  toward  an  isolated  hill,  the  Cerro  d'Oro,  a 
barren  peak  bearing  Inca  ruins  plainly  visible  upon 
its  summit.  As  we  climbed  its  sandy  heights  beau- 
tiful views  of  the  valley  began  to  unfold  themselves. 

To  the  westward  the  sea  glittered  like  silver  in  the 
afternoon  light;  to  the  north,  parched  and  baked  and 
blistered  by  eternal  sunshine,  the  arid  foot-hills  lay 
seamed  like  wrinkled  old  mummies;  but  to  the  east, 
in  violent  contrast  to  this  desolation,  the  broad 
Canete  valley,  under  the  fecundating  touch  of  its 
river  and  countless  irrigating  ditches,  bloomed  into 
verdant  fields  of  cane,  vivid,  velvety,  stretching  like 
a  vast  green  carpet  to  the  far  foot-hills  that  rose, 
pale,  ashen,  and  sandy,  to  buttress  the  grand  Cor- 
dillera towering  high  into  the  heavens. 

Upon  attaining  the  summit  of  the  hill  there  lay 
about  us  the  ruins  of  a  dead  civilisation.  House 
walls  of  sun-baked  adobe  brick,  with  doorways  still 

[106] 


SOUTHERN  PERU 

intact;  fragments  of  a  well-planned  fortress;  and 
lower  down  a  cemetery  wall  beyond  which  we  could 
see  innumerable  human  bones  and  row  upon  row 
of  skulls  glistening  in  the  sunshine  amid  strips  of 
mummy  wrappings  of  vicuna  cloth,  exhumed  by  the 
shifting  sand. 

We  rode  down  the  other  side  to  San  Luis,  and  in 
the  carrito  again  drove  for  miles  through  the  cane- 
fields  of  the  vast  estate  to  the  Nuevo  Mundo.  Here 
we  found  other  horses  and,  in  the  now  westering 
light,  rode  through  hills  scratched  with  andenes,  or 
Inca  terraces,  dating  from  the  days  when  that  pa- 
tient people,  by  means  of  aqueduct  and  tunnel,  de- 
flected whole  rivers  to  fertilise  their  crops.  These 
irrigating  ditches  are  still  in  use,  serving  as  models 
to  the  Spaniards. 

Each  hill  hereabout  is  topped  with  its  Inca  ruins. 
Like  the  mediaeval  builders,  these  Peruvian  Indians 
of  the  coast  region  chose  the  hill  tops  for  their  settle- 
ments, thus  protecting  themselves  alike  from  wan- 
dering bands  of  marauders  and  the  miasmas  of  the 
coast  marshes.  We  returned  to  Santa  Barbara  in 
the  waning  twilight,  with  the  crescent  moon  and 
the  Southern  Cross  to  guide  us. 

[107] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

So  ended  our  first  day  at  Cerro  Azul. 

I  had  asked  myself  in  the  morning,  "Why  did  I 
come?"  Now  I  was  answered.  This  single  day  had 
given  me  the  most  vivid  picture  of  one  of  those  Inca 
valleys  described  by  the  ancient  chroniclers,  scarcely 
believable  upon  this  rainless  coast — valleys  that  light 
its  desert  wastes  with  their  emerald  fields  wherever 
a  torrent  pours  from  the  Andes  down  to  the  sea; 
valleys  that  support  the  lonely  coast-towns  and  pro- 
duce the  barges  of  sugar,  the  bales  of  cotton,  the 
herds  of  cattle  that  are  hoisted  aboard  the  steamer 
at  every  port. 

The  days  that  followed  strengthened  this  picture 
and  added  to  its  details.  Each  brought  its  little  ex- 
pedition. 

One  morning  we  visited  the  Japanese  village  whose 
picturesque  little  lanes,  shaded  by  banana  palms, 
put  to  shame  the  shiftlessness  and  dirt  of  the  cholo 
quarter — the  inevitable  galpon  that  houses  the  half- 
breed  working  population  of  every  Peruvian  hacienda. 

Another  day  we  rode  to  the  Seal  Rocks  along  the 
hard-packed  sands  of  the  coast.  Our  horses  at  times 
galloped  through  the  surf  itself;  then  again  we  were 
cut  off  from  the  sea  by  hummocks  and  rocky  promon- 

[108] 


SOUTHERN  PERU 

tories  and  reaches  of  barren  sand  dunes.  Oh,  the 
loneHness  of  this  shore,  the  desolation  of  these  dunes ! 
Never  a  tree,  nor  a  shrub,  nor  a  blade  of  grass.  Only 
at  times  the  gulls  fishing  along  the  beach,  or  the 
skeleton  of  a  pelican  whitening  in  the  sand,  or  a  flock 
of  buzzards  hovering  over  a  dead  seal  cast  up  by  the 
breakers. 

Yet  we  were  following  the  main  coast  highway  to 
Lima,  a  hundred  miles  or  less  to  the  north,  though 
only  a  furrow  in  the  sand  and  a  single  line  of  telegraph- 
poles  marked  its  progress.  Our  ride  terminated  at 
Lobos  Rock,  where  the  seals  lay  wriggling  in  great 
families,  the  sound  of  their  barking  rising  even  above 
the  roar  of  the  surf.  We  watched  them  for  some 
time,  until  our  horses  grew  restless  and  the  sun  be- 
gan to  sink  behind  the  rocky  islets  that  lifted  their 
purple  heads  above  the  sea. 

We  struck  out  for  home  in  the  short  twilight  of  the 

tropics  through  the  lonely  sands,  and  on  the  way 

passed  three  cholos  eating  their  frugal  meal  oblivious 

of  the  coming  darkness,  preparing  for  their  long  walk 

toward  Lima,  going,  as  they  always  do,  by  night  to 

avoid  the  heat,  trudging  the  endless  sandy  miles  of 

the  coast  wilderness.     So  went  the  determined  old 

[109] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

conquistadores  when  Pizarro  met  Almagro  at  Mala, 
so  went  the  Inca  runners,  so  goes  the  cholo  and  the 
Indian  to-day. 

Our  longest  excursion  took  an  entire  day.  Early 
in  the  morning  we  went  in  the  carrito  as  far  as  Monte 
Alban,  a  superintendent's  ranch  at  the  farthest 
limits  of  the  estate,  the  scene  of  several  Spanish 
tragedies.     There  we  found  horses  and  were  joined 

bv  Senor  L ,  son  of  the  Vice-President  of  Peru, 

who  was  to  be  our  companion  for  the  day  and  whose 
home  we  were  to  visit  later  on.  Our  little  cavalcade 
of  six  started  through  the  village,  San  Vicente,  whose 
freshly  painted  church  and  clean  plaza  set  with 
gardens  told  of  its  prosperity,  and  out  between  the 
baked  mud  walls  that  serve  as  fences  and  are  so 
characteristic  a  feature  of  this  coast  region  of  Peru, 
until  we  reached  the  hacienda  of  Hualcara.  Here  we 
paused  for  a  while  and  refreshed  ourselves  in  its  patio 
garden  aglow  with  flowers  and  embowered  with  great 
clusters  of  the  pink  beUissima,  a  beautiful  vine — 
Japanese,  I  beheve — that  thrives  particularly  well  in 
these  latitudes. 

In  the  saddle  again,  we  struck  off  for  the  hills. 
In  a  moment  the  cotton-fields  and  the  acres  of  sugar- 

[110] 


SOUTHERN  PERU 

cane  were  gone  and  we  entered  a  dry,  parched  desert, 
the  desolation  of  the  moon,  without  a  vestige  of  life 
either  animal  or  vegetable.  Through  this  arid,  stony 
waste  we  crossed  a  long  abutment  of  the  Sierra  and 
came  at  last  out  above  a  broad  valley  watered  by  the 
main  fork  of  the  Canete,  a  valley  we  had  not  yet 
seen,  green  from  end  to  end,  traversed  by  long  files 
of  trees  and  dotted  with  ranches.  At  its  upper  end, 
just  under  the  shadow  of  the  mountains  and  com- 
manding the  pass  that  ascends  their  rugged  defiles, 
rose  an  isolated  cone,  the  key  of  the  valley,  known 
throughout  the  country  as  the  Fortaleza — the  Fort- 
ress. 

As  we  approached  it  we  could  plainly  see  extensive 
ruins  upon  its  summit,  remains  of  the  great  Inca 
stronghold  that  defended  their  mountain  kingdom 
against  the  invaders.  But  these  ruins  along  the  coast 
possess  neither  the  interest  nor  the  grandeur  of  the 
massive  structures  that  we  saw  later  on  the  interior 
plateaus.  Built  of  adobe  bricks,  not  of  giant  stones, 
they  are  specimens  of  the  decadence  of  the  Inca 
builder's  craft,  dating  as  they  do  from  but  a  century 
or  two  before  the  Spanish  conquest. 

We  circled  the  hill  to  view  them  from  every  side, 

[111] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

and  as  we  returned,  hungry  and  thirsty,  two  riders 
appeared,  as  from  a  rub  of  Aladdin's  lamp,  leading 
a  pack-animal  with  lunch-baskets.  Where  had  they 
sprung  from?  Only  a  laugh  from  our  host  as  in  the 
cool  shade  of  a  willow  we  selected  a  spot  for  our 
mid-day  meal.  An  old  Indian  brought  us  ponchos 
to  sit  upon  from  his  rude  cane  hut  near  by ;  the 
birds  were  singing  in  the  canebrakes,  and  a  little 
stream  went  rushing  merrily  by  in  its  mad  race  from 
the  Andes  to  the  sea. 

After  lunch  we  crossed  this  stream  and  followed 
down  its  valley,  fording  it  a  dozen  times  in  its  mean- 
derings,  riding  single-file  through  the  bamboo  jungles, 
the  tail  and  crupper  of  the  pacing  pony  ahead  ap- 
pearing and  disappearing  as  we  sped  along. 

We  finally  emerged  into  the  main  Cailete  valley  and 
paused  awhile  to  visit  an  old  bull-ring  quite  unique 
in  its  way.  Its  only  gradas  are  a  sort  of  balcony  or 
loggia  painted  with  statues  of  Roman  emperors  and 
with  vines  and  the  fittings  of  a  pergola.  The  entire 
barrera,  or  wall  surrounding  the  ring,  is  frescoed  with 
great  figures,  life-size,  and  now  partially  effaced  by 
time,  depicting  all  the  phases  of  a  bull-fight:  the 
picador  and  his  horse  gored  by  the  infuriated  animal; 

[112] 


SOUTHERN  PERU 

the  handerilleros  adroitly  placing  their  multi-coloured 
darts;  the  lithe  matador  sighting  his  sword  for  the 
final  thrust;  even  to  the  exit  of  the  dead  animal 
dragged  out  at  the  heels  of  the  arrastres. 

As  we  left  the  ring  the  four  wonderful  Norfolk 


fwr  •••Iff  tr 


>^>;SLKl?l^iSWl^Ii^§*\i/!L-  '•^, 


••A    -^il-'iisS,^^ 


vcuv^.Tt, 


•nti- 


Bull-Ring  in  the  Canete  Valley 


Island  pines,  straight,  tall,  and  branched  like  giant 
candelabra — the  quartette  of  trees  that  make  Unanue 
so  conspicuous  a  landmark  in  the  valley — raised 
their  lofty  heads  before  us,  and  from  time  to  time  we 
could  descry  the  pinnacles  and  loggias  of  the  beauti- 
ful hacienda  rising  above  the  intervening  meadow^s. 
We  were  to  stop  for  tea  at  this  home  of  the  Vice- 

[113] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

President,  and  presently  were  dismounting  in  its 
vast  fore-court,  where  the  white  oxen  were  being 
unyoked  from  the  plough  and  the  farm  implements 
stood  neatly  ranged  under  sheds  at  either  side. 


v<.»,..3\.  ..>^.. 


Hacienda  of  Undnue 

The  great  villa  that  confronted  us  was  quite  un- 
like any  that  I  have  seen — the  dream  of  some  French 
architect  who  let  his  imagination  run  riot.  With  its 
massive  basement  pierced  only  by  narrow  loopholes 
and  a  single  entrance  door,  its  upper  terrace  shaded 
on  every  side  by  arched  verandas,  its  windows  barred 
with  iron  rejas,  its  battlemented  roof-line,  and  the 

[114] 


The  Carrito  and  Its  Galloping  Mule 


SOUTHERN  PERU 

elaborate  spires  of  its  porch,  it  is  a  strange  combina- 
tion, fanciful  to  a  degree,  like  some  story-book  palace 
set  in  this  remote  valley,  fortified  against  an  imagi- 
nary foe,  yet  a  pleasure  palace  withal,  enclosed  b}^  its 
tangled  gardens  shaded  by  giant  trees. 

We  ascended  the  double  stairway  to  the  broad 
loggia  that  commands  a  view  in  every  direction  to- 
ward the  sea,  the  river  valleys,  and  the  mountains. 
The  cool  air  of  these  verandas,  paved  with  Italian 
marble,  and  of  the  rooms,  cooler  still,  that  surround 
the  main  patio,  was  grateful  indeed  after  the  glare  of 
the  road  and  the  heat  of  the  afternoon  sun.  We  hn- 
gered  until  rather  late  over  refreshing  beverages,  and 
the  sun  was  already  setting  as  we  bade  our  host 
good-bye  and  started  homeward  by  way  of  Santa 
Rita,  another  ranch  at  which  we  left  our  horses 
with  an  attendant  and  found  awaiting  us  the  now 
familiar  carrito  and  its  galloping  mule. 


[115] 


II 

TO  AREQUIPA 

OUR  visit  at  Santa  Barbara  had  come  to 
an  end.  Early  Sunday  morning  we  drove 
down  to  the  port  where  in  the  offing  lay  the 
Panama,  that  was  to  take  us  on  down  the  coast.  Our 
host  put  us  off  in  the  same  lancha  that  had  brought 
us  ashore,  the  agent  accompanied  us  to  the  ship  and 
presented  us  to  the  captain,  and  by  ten  o'clock  we 
had  weighed  anchor.    By  good  fortune  I  found  among 

the  passengers  a  man  I  had  already  met,  Dr.  G , 

rector  of  the  University  of  Cuzco,  Peru's  second 
oldest  seat  of  learning,  and  a  friend  of  his,  a  writer 
and  archaeologist  of  distinction.  In  the  ship's  saloon 
we  talked  over  the  interest  of  the  trip  that  lay  before 

us,  and,  to  whet  our  appetite,  Senor  C showed 

us  some  priceless  picture  cloths  of  pre-Inca  design 
— condor,  puma,  and  serpents  intertwined — that  he 
had  just  unearthed  somewhere  near  lea. 

In  the  afternoon  we  sighted  the  Chincha  Islands, 

[116] 


SOUTHERN  PERU 

white,  flat-topped,  like  half -melted  icebergs,  cele- 
brated for  their  guano  deposits,  a  semicircle  of  them 
off  Pisco  fringing  the  horizon. 

Pisco's  gaily  painted  houses  soon  emerged  from 
the  sea  and  we  cast  anchor.  Dark  Indian  women 
came  aboard  selling  the  luscious  Italia  grapes  for 
which  the  valley  is  noted,  and  from  which  is  made  the 
Italia  brandy  and  the  "pisco,"  that  alcoholic  bever- 
age so  much  used  along  the  coast,  some  of  it  so  strong 
that,  to  quote  a  graphic  expression  that  I  heard,  "it 
would  make  a  rabbit  fight  a  bull-dog." 

Pisco  scarcely  repaid  us  for  the  visit  ashore.  The 
town  itself  lies  too  far  away  to  be  conveniently  visited 
in  a  few  hours.  So  we  had  to  content  ourselves  with 
the  settlement  along  the  beach — a  series  of  bath- 
houses and  small  hotels  like  some  miniature  Coney 
Island.  We  stopped  next  day  at  another  forlorn  port, 
Chala  by  name,  with  a  flimsy  wooden  church  stuck 
in  a  plaza  of  shifting  sand  and  a  few  frame  houses 
set  upon  the  same  unstable  foundation. 

What  the  shore  lacked  in  interest  the  sea  made  up 
for.  It  literally  teemed  with  life.  Sea-lions  bobbed 
their  heads  up  and  down  upon  its  surface;  schools  of 
dolphins  frolicked  about,  while  flocks  of  shags  and 

[117] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

murres  hovered  over  them;  long  files  of  pelicans 
lazily  flapped  their  way  toward  the  guano-coated 
rocks  behind  which  purplish  mountains  now  rose 
abruptly  from  the  sea.  All  afternoon  we  coasted 
near  the  shore  and  toward  night  enjoyed  a  splendid 
sunset. 

Early  next  morning  the  clang  of  the  engine  bell 
and  the  clank  of  the  mooring-chains  told  us  we  had 
anchored.  In  the  grey  dawn  the  shore  looked  not 
unlike  Salaverry,  but  a  larger  town  lay  spread  upon 
the  cliffs  half  hidden  in  the  haze  of  spindrift.  The 
Pacific  rollers  thundered  in  long  surges  against  the 
rocks,  and  the  boats  coming  out  to  meet  us  bounced 
like  corks  upon  the  sea.  Yet  it  was  an  exceptionally 
calm  morning  for  Mollendo,  so  we  were  told!  As  I 
was  choosing  Sifletero  among  the  various  brigands  who 
presented  themselves  to  ferry  us  ashore,  a  Spaniard 
stepped  up  and  presented  his  card — an  oflScial  from 
the  Southern  Railways  of  Peru. 

He  soon  had  us  installed  in  his  stanch  boat,  and 
with  the  aid  of  a  peppery  tug,  the  first  I  had  seen  at 
the  small  ports  of  the  coast,  we  were  cutting  our  way 
through  the  water  while  the  other  boats  were  still 
bobbing  about  by  the  steamer's  side. 

[118] 


'.'\-^'iW 


ill  I* 


s 


tt 

g 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

In  behind  the  break-water  all  was  animation. 
Busy  cranes  were  loading  and  unloading  barges,  a 
railroad  engine  was  puffing  back  and  forth  switching 
freight-cars  to  and  fro,  and  along  the  quays  and  on 
the  landing-steps  a  jostling  crowd  was  pushing  and 
shouting.  We  scrambled  ashore  and  were  met  by 
the  station-master  who  had  us  and  our  luggage 
quickly  transferred  to  the  private  car  that  was  to 
take  us  to  Arequlpa — the  same  car  (though  we  did 
not  then  know  it)  that  afterward  was  to  be  our  home 
for  weeks. 

Our  train  was  not  to  leave  until  one  o'clock,  so 
several  hours  of  leisure  lay  before  us. 

MoUendo,  however,  presented  few  attractions.  It 
looks  as  San  Francisco  must  have  looked  in  the  fifties 
— Its  frame  houses  set  in  sand  dunes.  Much  of  the 
town  overhangs  the  sea,  clinging  to  the  bluffs,  so  that 
many  of  the  dwellings  present  three  stories  to  the 
ocean  and  only  one  to  the  land.  Such  a  house,  for 
instance,  is  the  Club,  a  well-managed  Institution  to 
which  we  were  kindly  taken,  and  where  we  enjoyed 
an  excellent  lunch  on  a  terrace  overlooking  the 
broad  Pacific,  whose  thundering  surges  beat  along 
the  shore  at  our  feet. 

[120] 


SOUTHERN  PERU 

Just  before  we  boarded  our  train  a  curious  incident 
occurred. 

A  little  Indian  boy,  some  six  or  seven  years  old, 
approached  us  and,  with  tears  in  his  eyes  and  his 
voice  choked  with  sobs,  asked  to  become  our  chico, 
our  boy — literally  and  of  his  own  free-will  giving  him- 
self to  us  for  life.  His  tale  was  pitiful  indeed.  An 
aunt  had  brought  him  down  from  the  mountains 
and  had  left  him  here  by  the  coast  and  disappeared, 
whether  by  boat  or  train  he  did  not  know.  We  were 
quite  touched  by  his  appeal,  and  had  it  not  been  for 
the  friend  who  accompanied  us — a  Peruvian-born — I 
do  not  know  what  might  not  have  happened.  He  as- 
sured us,  however,  that  the  boy  was  shamming,  that 
he  wanted  to  go  back  to  the  mountains,  to  be  sure, 
but  that  as  soon  as  he  got  a  favourable  opportunity 
he  would  run  away;  in  fact,  that  if  we  put  him  in 
the  second-class  coach  we  should  never  see  him  when 
we  arrived ;  that  this  sort  of  appeal  to  strangers  was 
a  regular  thing,  and  so  on. 

Who  was  right  I  do  not  know.  But  I  do  know 
that  boys  of  this  age  and  even  younger,  and  girls,  too, 
of  the  inferior  Indian  race,  are  attached  to  the  person 
of  each  young  Peruvian  child  of  the  upper  class  and 
brought  up  with  them  for  life.    We  constantly  saw 

[121] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

such  little  slaves  carrying  coats  or  bundles  or  um- 
brellas behind  their  little  masters,  who  walked  ahead 
with  their  parents — a  pernicious  custom,  to  my 
mind,  breeding  arrogance,  insolence,  and  a  habit  of 
idleness  in  the  better-born  children.  We  spoke  to 
the  station-master  about  the  little  waif  and  he  prom- 
ised to  look  out  for  him.    I  hope  he  did. 

We  pulled  out  at  the  tail  of  the  afternoon  passenger 
promptly  on  time,  skirted  the  shore  for  a  bit  to  the 
bathing  resorts  of  Ensenada  and  Mejia,  and  then 
struck  for  the  hills  and  Arequipa. 

The  road  ascends  by  a  series  of  loops  and  curves 
among  rounded  foot-hills  whose  fat  flanks  are  covered 
only  with  a  tough-looking  herb,  dull  brown  and  in 
spots  green.  Now  and  then  we  caught  glimpses  of 
one  of  those  verdant  valleys  that  lie  tucked  away 
down  by  the  coast.  This  soon  passed  from  sight, 
however,  and  at  an  elevation  of  about  a  thousand 
metres  we  emerged  onto  a  succession  of  broad  table- 
lands backed  by  blue  mountains,  whose  gorges  are 
filled  with  white  sand  that,  at  a  distance,  looks  like 
snow-patches. 

As  we  proceeded  these  sandy  drifts  approached 
the  track,  sometimes  descending  the  mountains  in 
long  ridges  like  giant  reptiles'  tails,  sometimes  form- 

[122] 


s 


K 


SOUTHERN  PERU 

ing  pools  or  hillocks,  but  oftenest  of  all  piling  up 
in  those  strange  sand-crescents  that  are  one  of  the 
phenomena  of  the  region. 

These  crescents  are  quite  perfect  in  form,  highest 
and  broadest  at  the  centre,  diminishing  with  perfect 
regularity  both  in  height  and  thickness  toward  the 
two  horns  that  curve  a  bit  inward  like  the  Turkish 
moon.  Hundreds  of  them  lie  spotted  over  this  table- 
land, each  with  its  horns  pointed  eastward,  each  mov- 
ing like  clockwork  in  the  same  direction.  For  they 
move.  Their  tiny  white  particles,  that  hum  in  the 
heat,  are  fanned  by  the  wind  and  chased  over  the 
summit,  dropping  down  on  the  other  side.  Thus, 
particle  by  particle,  irresistibly  they  pursue  their 
onward  march.  They  must  be  shovelled  from  the 
railroads  like  snow-drifts,  though  we  were  told  that 
a  few  large  stones  placed  upon  them  would  break 
them  up  and  prevent  their  movement. 

The  stations  along  these  plateaus  are  but  tiny 
oases — palms,  fruit  trees,  flowers  set  in  a  waterless 
waste.  After  San  Jose  you  begin  to  climb  again 
through  salmon-tinted  mountains,  stratified  and 
shaded  like  those  of  the  Grand  Canyon  of  the  Colo- 
rado.   Deep  down  in  their  chasms  narrow  valleys 

[  123  ] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

appear — green,  rich  meadows  where  cattle  graze 
and  Indian  bamboo  huts  nestle  by  the  rivulets. 

At  Vitor,  where  the  women  were  selling  delicious 
grapes  by  the  station,  we  had  reached  an  altitude  of 
five  thousand  feet  and  soon  could  look  across  the 
broad  upper  plateau  that  now  spread  out  before  us. 
At  a  turn  of  the  road  in  the  distance  Chachani  and 
El  Misti,  the  two  Andean  sentinels,  suddenly  stood 
revealed  in  all  the  glory  of  their  icy  summits,  nearly 
twenty  thousand  feet  above  the  sea! 

The  scenery  now  became  remarkable — grand. 

At  times  we  looked  deep  into  the  valley  of  the 
Chili,  with  its  verdant  fields  and  Indian  villages  set  in 
clusters  of  banana  palms;  at  others  into  arid  chasms 
where  the  blue  evening  shadows  were  slowly  creep- 
ing upward  while  the  coppery  sunlight  still  flickered 
on  the  upper  walls.  And  at  each  turn  we  obtained 
new  views  of  the  two  mountain  giants  that  marked 
our  destination  and  that  grew  nearer  and  ever 
nearer,  now  rosy  in  the  evening  glow. 

The  short  twihght  had  deepened.  Tingo's  fights 
burst  forth  in  the  semi-darkness,  and  in  ten  minutes 
we  pulled  into  the  station  at  Arequipa. 

[124] 


LA  VILLA  HERMOSA 


LA  VILLA  HERMOSA 

THE   acting   superintendent   of   the   Southern 
Railways  was  there  to  greet  us,  and  soon 
we  were  ratthng,  with  him,  in  the  dark  of  the 
early  evening,  over  the  cobble-stones  to  the  hotel. 
How  like  Spain  it  all  was — perhaps  even  more 
Spanish  than  Spain,  for  it  lacked  every  taint  of  cos- 
mopolitanism ! 

Suddenly  we  emerged  into  the  plaza  and  a  moment 
later  stepped  out  upon  our  porch  speechless  at  what 
lay  before  us.  The  great  bell  of  the  Compania,  just  op- 
posite, was  tolling  for  vespers,  and  its  deep,  bass  voice 
was  answered  by  the  jangling  but  sweet-toned  chimes 
of  the  other  churches  and  by  the  slow,  irregular  thud 
of  the  cathedral  bell.  We  were  standing  on  top  of 
the  Portales,  or  stone  arcades  of  beautiful  design, 
that  completely  surround  the  plaza  on  three  of  its 

[127] 


|"J|J         _*    ^' ■»■ — ' *'  .   ;    ^. 


rt-fr..n.   -7   f  .V>--- Vf:•>C■->P^^iJip;-v•?_'^^^^ 


■«n«»r; 


iV 


The  Cathedral  from  the  Mercaderes 


LA   VILLA   HERMOSA 

sides.  Below  us  lay  flower-beds,  palms,  and  broad, 
curving  pathways  whose  glistening  tile  pavements, 
clean  as  mirrors,  reflected  the  arc  lights  above.  A 
quiet  crowd  was  slowly  moving  about,  for  a  military 
band  was  playing  off  in  one  corner. 

Directly  opposite  loomed  the  long  fagade  of  the 
cathedral,  above  which  we  could  faintly  descry  the 
shadowy  forms  of  Misti,  rising  to  its  snow-capped 
cone  in  all  the  perfect  symmetry  of  its  pure  volcanic 
outline,  and  of  its  rugged  neighbour,  Chachani,  cut 
into  a  multitude  of  peaks  and  ice-fields  and  rocky 
pinnacles.  "Where,"  we  asked  ourselves,  "could  we 
find  such  another  combination,  a  great  metropolitan 
cathedral  fronting  a  monumental  plaza  and  backed 
by  two  such  mountain  giants?" 

And  the  spell  of  this  first  impression  did  not  wear 
off. 

We  dined  that  evening  with  friends  at  the  Central 
— a  good  Spanish  dinner — after  which  we  were 
amused  by  an  Indian  flower-boy  who,  though  ugly 
and  ill-formed,  danced  by  our  table,  and  with  roll- 
ing eyes  recited  quaint  pensamientos  of  languishing 
themes. 

As  we  walked  about  the  streets  next  morning  we 

[129] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

were  struck  by  the  pretty,  gay  aspect  of  the  town, 
and  of  its  dwelKngs  painted  in  pale  pastel  tones,  rose, 
pale  ochre,  Nile  green,  and  pearly  grey,  but  most 
of  all  azul — those  blues  that  shade  from  faint,  cool 
white  to  the  deep  tones  of  the  azure  sky.  In  the  open 
court-yards  oleanders  bloomed  and  the  tessellated 
tufa  pavements  were  shaded  by  fig,  orange,  and  lemon 

trees. 

I  should  call  Arequipa  the  Silent  City.  No  carts 
rattle  on  its  thoroughfares,  its  donkeys'  feet  are  un- 
shod, and  even  its  httle  tram-cars  fail  to  drown  the 
murmur  of  the  rushing  rivulets  that  course  down  its 
open  gutters. 

It  is  the  second  city  in  size  in  Peru,  and  its  founder, 
Garcia  Manuel  de  Carvajal,  called  it  La  Villa  Her- 
mosa— the  Beautiful  City— and  it  well  deserved  its 
name.  Its  present  appellation  is  Quichua  in  origin, 
and  is  said  to  have  originated  from  the  fact  that  a 
party  of  Inca  soldiers  once  came  upon  this  lovely 
valley  of  the  Chili,  hidden  in  the  dreary  Andean  soli- 
tudes, and  asked  their  commander  to  allow  them  to 
remain.  His  reply  was,  "Ari,  quepai";  that  in 
Quichua  means  "Yes,  remain." 

Its    elevation,    some    seventy-five    hundred    feet 

[130] 


The  Cathedral  and  Chachani 


LA   VILLA   HERMOSA 

above  the  sea,  gives  it  a  delightful  climate,  quite 
spring-like  in  character,  and  of  its  forty  thousand  in- 
habitants a  large  proportion  are  gente  decente,  for  it 
has  long  been  recognised  as  a  centre  of  culture  and 
the  residence  of  men  of  distinction. 

The  courtesy  of  the  Arequipenians  is  beyond  ques- 
tion. Each  time  you  stop  to  look  into  a  court-yard 
some  one  has  a  pretty  way  of  asking  you  to  come  in 
and  "take  a  seat."  Then  you  are  presented  with 
flowers  and  apologies  are  made  that  the  season  is  late 
and  flowers  not  what  they  were  a  month  or  two  ago. 
And  what  pretty,  dark-eyed  young  women  in  lacy 
mantillas  you  meet  coming  home  from  church  on 
Sunday  morning! 

Let  me  tell  you  of  an  Arequipeilian  Sunday,  to 
complete  the  picture,  for  Arequipa  is  essentially  a 
religious  town  and  lives  its  full  life  on  Sunday. 

You  are  waked  in  the  morning  by  the  bells  of  the 
Compania,  big  and  small,  pealing  forth  in  carillons; 
then,  when  their  vibrant  notes  have  died  away, 
you  distinguish  the  silvery  distant  chimes  of  other 
churches;  then  a  sound  of  voices  chanting,  accom- 
panied by  slow  martial  music.  You  look  out  and  see 
a  procession  making  a  tour  of  the  plaza — a  brother- 

[131] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

hood  bearing  a  great  crucifix,  followed  by  priests  and 
the  soldiers  of  the  garrison. 

By  ten  you  are  out  and  cross  the  plaza  to  the  cathe- 
dral and  watch  the  Indian  small  boys,  barefoot  and 
nimble,  who  noiselessly  carry  from  each  home  the 
priedieu,  or  chair  of  their  mistress,  gradually  filling 
all  the  carpeted  nave  with  them.  The  great  organ 
peals  forth,  and  feminine  Arequipa,  in  sober  black, 
troops  in  for  high  mass. 

After  this  morning  function  there  is  a  lull  till  about 
two  o'clock,  when  all  the  men  of  the  town  and  some 
of  the  women  wander  down  to  the  bull-ring,  where 
Bomba  or  Segurito,  according  to  the  posters,  will 
fight  six  "hermosos  toros."  And  splendid  bulls  they 
are,  to  be  sure,  or  were  the  day  we  saw  them.  I  have 
seen  no  such  thrilling  fights  in  Spain  as  we  witnessed 
here,  and  would  not  care  often  to  undergo  such  ex- 
citement. Here  in  Peru  the  picador  is  practically 
suppressed ;  in  fact,  often  totally  so.  Hence  there  are 
none  of  the  gory  horse  episodes,  and  the  matador 
takes  the  great,  long-horned  animal  while  he  is  still 
quite  fresh  and  untired. 

The  pluck  of  the  two  espadas  that  we  saw  that  day 
was  astounding.    They  knelt  in  the  ring,  vaulted  the 

[  132] 


Court  of  a  Residence 


..  <^.cp,<^.v\ 


Church  of  La  Compania 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

animal,  or  turned  calmly  from  him  so  that  he  just 
grazed  them  in  his  infuriated  rushes,  playing  all  the 
tricks  of  their  hazardous  calling,  cheered  to  the  echo, 
until  one  was  finally  caught  by  the  bull  and  severely 
wounded. 

We  returned  to  the  plaza,  where  a  military  con- 
cert was  now  in  full  swing.  If  the  women  had  pre- 
sented a  sober  picture  at  the  cathedral  in  the  morn- 
ing, not  so  now  at  this  afternoon  promenade.  Decked 
in  their  smartest  gowns  and  escorted  by  gay  young 
officers  and  obsequious  young  men,  they  sauntered 
in  groups  of  three  or  four  round  and  round  the  glazed- 
tile  walks  among  the  flowers  and  palmettoes. 

We  went  with  two  friends  (one  of  them  the  Amer- 
ican minister  at  La  Paz)  to  the  zarzuela  that  evening. 
A  fairly  good  company  was  playing  an  old  favourite, 
the  melodramatic  "Mancha  que  limpia,"  and  a  good 
house  was  in  attendance.  The  scene  was  certainly 
characteristic  of  a  Latin  play-house,  the  main  floor 
occupied  for  the  most  part  by  the  men,  the  three  tiers 
of  boxes  filled  with  elaborately  dressed  women,  and 
the  peanut-galleries  crowded  to  suffocation  with  the 
small  trades-people. 

The  town  reserves  a  number  of  picturesque  corners 

[134] 


Arequipa  Jrom  the  Bridge  Across  the  Chili 


isn^i^^^-^^^^  -• ^ 


♦-  -    •» 


Entrance  to  the  old  Bishop's  Palace 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

for  him  who  will  ferret  them  out.  There  is  the  mar- 
ket; there  are  the  old  palaces  and  churches  orna- 
mented with  those  extravagant  plateresque  carvings 
done  by  the  Indians  under  the  guidance  of  their 
Spanish  conquerors;  there  is  the  great  stone  bridge 
that  spans  the  Chili,  with  its  massive  piers  and  but- 
tresses that  remind  you  of  their  prototypes  at  Toledo; 
there  are  the  long  street  vistas,  with  Chachani  or 
Misti  ever  framed  at  the  far  extremity. 

And  in  the  evening  you  may  drive  out  over  the 
rough  country  road  to  a  bit  of  American  soil — the 
observatory  that  Harvard  University  maintains  here 
for  the  study  of  the  southern  heavens — and  see  the 
stars  sit  for  their  portraits  taken  by  its  wonderful 
photographic  telescopes.  It  is  strange,  indeed,  to 
find  this  astronomer's  home,  so  absolutely  American 
in  all  its  appointments,  perched  on  the  far  flanks  of 
El  Misti,  and  there  to  pass  an  evening  in  the  genial 
warmth  of  an  enthusiastic  young  American's  fireside. 


[136] 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  INCAS 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  INCAS 

^S  you  ascend  from  Arequipa  to  cross  the  back- 
iJ^  bone  of  the  Andes  on  this  Southern  Rail- 
-^  ^  way  of  Peru,  leaving  behind  the  dreary 
waste-lands  of  the  upper  Cordilleras,  devoid  of  life 
and  vegetation  except  for  the  pajonal,  the  only 
grass  that  clothes  the  highest  plateaus  with  its 
stubby  golden  carpet,  where  no  bit  of  green  has 
rested  the  eye  since  the  lovely  valley  of  the  Chili 
faded  from  view  and  the  eternal  snows  of  Chachani 
and  Misti  dropped  lower  and  lower  toward  the  hori- 
zon; after  topping  the  pass  at  Crucero  Alto,  some 
fifteen  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  you  descend 
the  eastward  side  by  loops  and  gradients  about  two 
thousand  feet  or  more.  Vicunas,  the  sole  habitants 
of  these  mountain  solitudes,  graze  in  the  ychu  grass 
by  the  tracks,  and  at  lower  levels  llamas  and  sheep. 
The  flocks  and  herds  increase  in  size  as  you  de- 

[139] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM   PANAMA 

scend.  Occasionally  clusters  of  huts  appear  in  whose 
doorways  women  are  seated  weaving  ponchos,  their 
mouths  muffled  against  the  icy  breeze.  A  chain  of 
lakes  now  borders  the  road,  one  bright  and  peaceful, 
the  next  shaded  by  heavy  clouds,  dark,  tragic  as  the 
tarn  of  the  House  of  Usher.  Snow-peaks  close  in 
the  vista  to  the  left,  while  ahead  opens  a  broad  val- 
ley, the  great  basin  of  Lake  Titicaca. 

You  quickly  realise  that  you  are  entering  another 
world — a  strange  world  shut  off  from  the  remainder 
of  our  planet  by  every  barrier  that  nature  could  de- 
vise. To  the  east  tower  the  White  Cordillera,  beyond 
which  moulder  the  miasmic  jungles  of  the  Montana; 
to  the  west  rise  the  snowy  altitudes  we  have  just 
traversed.  Between  these  two  ranges  lie  a  succession 
of  highland  valleys  some  ten  to  thirteen  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea,  each  separated  from  the  other  by 
nudos,  or  knots,  of  lesser  transverse  chains  of  moun- 
tains. 

These  valleys  in  our  latitudes  would  be  covered 
with  eternal  snow.  Here,  under  the  tropics,  they 
blossom  with  all  the  products  of  the  temperate  zone, 
enjoying  a  cool,  invigorating  climate  and  supporting 
a  large  population  of  Indians. 

[140] 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  INCAS 

They  constituted  the  heart  of  the  ancient  empire 
of  the  Incas,  that  amazing  despotism  that  stunned 
the  Spanish  conquerors  with  the  wisdom  of  its  in- 
stitutions, the  splendour  and  the  size  of  its  buildings, 
the  rich  produce  of  its  fields,  and,  above  all,  by  the 
wealth  of  its  mines  of  gold  and  silver  and  its  amassed 
riches  of  centuries.  When  the  Spaniard  came,  Hu- 
ayna  Capac  had  already  extended  his  dominions  as 
far  north  as  Quito  and  as  far  south  as  the  land  of 
the  Araucanian  Indians  of  Chili.  Even  most  of  the 
savage  tribes  of  the  Montana  owed  him  allegiance, 
and  only  the  Pacific  bounded  his  territories  to  the 
westward.  The  centre  of  his  empire  lay  in  these 
high  plateaus  of  the  Andes — the  fair  and  fertile  val- 
leys of  Huaylas  and  Vilcanota,  the  bare  and  bleak 
plains  of  Cerro  de  Pasco  and  Titicaca's  basin. 

We  were  now  entering  the  last-named,  the  most 
southern  of  the  four,  and  were  then  to  turn  north- 
ward to  visit  the  Inca  capital,  Cuzco,  the  navel  of 
the  kingdom,  as  its  Quichua  name  signifies. 

It  was  toward  the  end  of  the  rainy  season.  So, 
when  we  started  from  Juliaca  in  the  morning  the 
broad  valley  lay  flecked  with  numerous  pools  of 
water  that  reflected  the  deep  blue  of  the  sky  mingled 

[141] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

with  the  fleecy  white  of  the  small  clouds  that  floated 
overhead.  The  air,  after  the  night's  rain,  was  of  an 
indescribable  rarity  and  purity,  pellucid;  so  clear, 
indeed,  that  the  distant  Cordilleras  showed  every 
varied  marking  of  their  sharp  ridges  and  deep  que- 
bradas.  Now  and  then,  as  we  looked  backward, 
Titicaca  came  into  view,  reflecting  the  hills  of  indigo 
blue  that  surround  it. 

This  lake  is  intimately  connected  with  all  the  tales 
and  legends  of  the  Incas.  In  fact,  the  usually  ac- 
cepted story  of  the  origin  of  their  race  makes  it 
spring  from  the  waters  of  this  very  lake.  Garcilasso 
de  la  Vega,  himself  a  descendant  of  the  Incas  of  the 
royal  line,  gives  us  a  clear  version  of  the  story. 

Inti,  the  Sun-God,  ashamed  of  the  barbarous  prac- 
tices of  the  primitive  human  beings  who  then  in- 
habited the  globe,  taking  pity  upon  them,  sent  to 
earth  his  two  children,  Manco  Capac  and  his  sister- 
wife.  Mama  Oello  (Children  of  the  Sun,  as  their 
descendants,  the  Incas,  always  styled  themselves), 
causing  them  to  rise  from  Titicaca  and  go  forth  to 
instruct  the  people:  he  in  government  and  the  arts 
of  war  and  husbandry ;  she  in  weaving  and  spinning — 
his  Coya,  or  queen  of  women,  as  he  was  king  of  men. 

[142] 


THE   LAND   OF  THE   INCAS 

Inti  thus  admonished  them.  "  'Tis  I,"  said  he, 
"who  warm  the  earth  and  its  inhabitants  when  they 
are  cold,  fertihse  their  fields  and  their  pastures; 
who  fructify  their  trees,  multiply  their  flocks;  who 
send  them  rain  and  fine  weather  in  season.  I  make 
the  tour  of  the  world  each  day  to  see  what  is  needful 
for  its  happiness.  I  reserve  for  myself  only  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  it  happy.  Go,  do  likewise.  Be 
happy  if  thou  canst,  but,  above  all,  try  to  make  other 
people  happy." 

He  gave  them,  too,  a  "barrilla  de  oro"  of  half  a 
yard  in  length  and  two  fingers  in  thickness  that  they 
were  to  take  with  them.  They  were  to  pursue  their 
journey  until  this  golden  wedge,  of  its  own  accord, 
should  sink  into  the  earth,  at  which  spot  they  were 
to  establish  the  capital  of  their  kingdom.  Accord- 
ingly, they  set  forth  upon  their  wanderings,  never 
stopping  until  they  reached  the  valley  of  Cuzco, 
where  the  golden  wedge  sank  into  the  earth  and  dis- 
appeared. 

We  were  now  following  their  footsteps  from  Tit- 
icaca's  shore  to  this  same  valley.  The  fields  were 
alive  with  flocks  of  sheep  and  herds  of  cattle  and 
llamas ;  here  and  there  groups  of  adobe  huts  thatched 

[143] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

with  straw  afforded  shelter  for  their  keepers.  The 
names  of  the  stations  told  us  we  were  approaching 
the  Quichua  country,  for,  instead  of  the  familiar  San 
Miguel  or  San  Jose,  we  read  Calapuja,  Tirapata,  Aya- 
viri,  and  Chuquibambilla.  Quichua  was  the  ancient 
tongue  of  the  Inca  court,  imitated  by  all  the  con- 
quered nations  until  it  became  the  fashionable  lan- 
guage, the  most  elegant  of  the  South  American 
tongues.  It  is  still  the  spoken  language  of  the  Peru- 
vian Indian. 

Our  train  had  now  begun  to  climb,  mounting 
through  bleak  pastures  until  we  reached  La  Raya, 
the  summit  of  one  of  those  knots  of  mountains  that 
connect  the  two  main  ranges  of  the  Andes.  The 
scenery  was  magnificent.  We  were  shut  in  by  great 
peaks  set  in  fields  of  moss  or  grass  that  encircle  their 
mighty  cones,  whose  heads  reach  the  realms  of  eter- 
nal silence  and  eternal  snow. 

Two  little  streams  rise  at  the  top  of  the  pass.  One, 
the  Puchara,  starts  down  the  valley  we  had  just  as- 
cended, finally  to  reach  the  Pacific ;  the  other  becomes 
the  Vilcanota  that,  gathering  strength  as  it  proceeds, 
goes  to  swell  the  mighty  Amazon,  emptying  into  the 
Atlantic  some  three  thousand  miles  or  more  away. 

[  144  ] 


Pottery  Vendors,  Puchara 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM   PANAMA 

As  we  descended  beside  its  bubbling  waters — so 
soon,  alas,  to  loose  their  crystal  pureness — a  beauti- 
ful valley  opened  before  us,  hemmed  in  by  frowning 
mountains,  the  first  of  the  valleys  that  the  Incas 
chose  as  the  central  seat  of  their  civilisation.  The 
mountain  slopes  they  terraced  into  rich  andenes; 
they  irrigated  their  fields  and  gardens,  fortified  their 
crags,  and  dotted  their  meadows  with  villages  and 
cities.  At  the  far  end  they  built  Cuzco,  their  capital, 
the  great  shrine  of  their  deity  the  Sun,  the  venerated 
object  of  their  pilgrimage.  As  Mecca  is  to  the  Mus- 
sulman, or  Rome  to  the  Catholic,  so  was  Cuzco  to 
the  Inca. 

These  valleys  still  remain  well-tilled,  their  fields 
of  wheat  and  barley  alternating  with  patches  of 
quinoa,  the  hardy  grain  that  is  indigenous  to  these 
mountain  plains,  their  staple  of  life,  thriving  at  an 
elevation  of  thirteen  thousand  feet. 

Before  six  o'clock  we  pulled  into  the  station  at 
Sicuani,  there  to  remain  for  the  night. 

Our  itinerary  had  been  planned  with  this  in  view, 
for  Sicuani's  Sunday-morning  market  is  the  most 
notable  in  all  the  region.  This  being  Saturday  even- 
ing, the  llama  trains  were  already  arriving.     After 

[146] 


At  the  Top  of  the  Pass,  La  Raya 


THE  LAND   OF  THE   INCAS 

dinner,  as  we  walked  about  the  town,  w^e  saw  whole 
troops  of  these  strange  beasts  being  driven  into  the 
corrals,  craning  their  long  necks,  their  ears  tilted  for- 
ward, suspicious,  always  on  the  alert,  afraid  to  enter 
unknown  enclosures. 

As  we  crossed  the  two  squares  on  our  return  to 
our  car,  from  the  tiendas  and  chinganas  that  sur- 
round them  came  sad  strains  of  music,  sometimes  a 
voice  singing,  sometimes  a  reedy  flute  plaintively 
crooning,  sometimes  a  rude  guitar  strumming  those 
sad  yaravisy  the  sole  musical  expression  of  the  Andean 
Indian — minor  melodies,  sad  in  theme  and  modula- 
tion, strange  in  their  wilful  syncopations,  fitly  voic- 
ing the  melancholy,  the  sorrow  of  a  down-trodden 
race. 

The  environment  of  the  Inca  Indian  has  had  great 
influence  upon  his  temperament.  He  combines  to  a 
marked  degree  the  nature  of  the  easy-going  inhabi- 
tant of  the  tropics  with  the  hardihood  and  fortitude 
and  capacity  for  toil  of  the  mountaineer.  On  the 
bleak  'punas  of  this  upper  world  of  his,  this  "roof  of 
the  earth,"  as  it  has  been  called,  his  inscrutable  ex- 
pression, his  silences,  and  his  quiet  melancholy  ac- 
cord well  with  the  mysteries  of  the  country. 

[147] 


—  o  -^  — 


f 


g 

u 

^ 


3 

a 

s 

3 


THE  LAND   OF  THE   INCAS 

We  were  out  early  next  morning,  and  the  sun  had 
not  yet  risen  from  behind  the  mountains,  though  the 
sky  was  bright,  as  we  turned  into  the  plaza. 

Already  it  was  full  of  people.  Here  was  the  move- 
ment of  the  market-place,  the  bustle  of  the  traders. 
But  how  quiet!  Only  silent  groups  stood  about. 
They  smiled  once  in  a  while,  but  quickly  grew  grave 
again;  they  scarcely  ever  laughed.  As  we  listened, 
the  singing  of  the  birds — the  numerous  trigueras — 
drowned  the  human  voices! 

The  natives  w^ere  constantly  arriving.  The  sky 
grew  brighter  and  brighter,  and  suddenly  the  fiery- 
orb  of  the  sun  shot  above  the  mountains  and  darted 
its  rays  in  long  shafts  of  light  down  upon  the  market- 
place. The  chill  of  the  early  morning  was  dispelled 
as  if  by  magic.  Small  wonder  that  the  Incas  in  their 
bleak,  fireless  mountain  homes  worshipped  him  as 
their  chief  deity! 

And  now,  under  his  effulgence,  the  beauty  of  this 
Sunday-morning  market  became  apparent.  The 
houses  around  the  plaza,  hitherto  grey  and  uninter- 
esting, now  gleamed  white  or  pale  blue  or  caught 
golden  reflections  under  their  broad  eaves  and  bal- 
conies from  the  yellow  dust  of  the  roadways.    Upon 

[149] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

the  surrounding  hill-slopes  flocks  of  llamas  and 
trains  of  donkeys  stood  silhouetted  with  silver  await- 
ing a  purchaser. 

And  the  costumes!  The  men's  were  undoubtedly 
the  finest.  Their  ^ponchos,  or  blankets,  reaching  to  the 
knees,  were  woven  in  rich  patterns  and  ornamented 
with  coloured  fringes;  their  sturdy,  sun-browned 
calves  and  feet  were  bare  or  protected  only  by  rude 
sandals;  upon  their  heads  they  wore  tight-fitting 
caps  with  ear-flaps,  woven,  too,  in  intricate  designs 
like  those  of  the  poncho  but  far  finer,  the  best  being 
made  of  the  beautiful  vicuna  wool,  which,  under  the 
Incas,  was  reserved  for  the  nobility  alone.  Their 
hair,  long,  black,  and  thick,  showed  front  and  back, 
and  was  clipped  round,  giving  to  their  clear-cut 
features  and  aquiline  noses  the  appearance  of  those 
splendid  bronze  heads  modelled  by  Donatello  and 
his  school. 

The  dominant  colour  note  was  red — scarlet,  vary- 
ing through  all  the  gamut  of  rose  and  warmed  by 
intervening  stripes  of  undyed  ochre  wool. 

The  women  wore  the  bright  montero,  a  gay,  broad- 
brimmed  hat  almost  devoid  of  crown,  ornamented 
with  gold  or  silver  galloon,  and  their  principal  gar- 

[150] 


',.;* 


.MV 


'  ^P^' 


^ 


Corner  of  the  Market,  Sicuani 


THE  LAND  OF  THE   INCAS 

ment  was  the  llicha  or  mantle  in  which  they  draped 
themselves.  Before  them,  spread  upon  the  ground, 
lay  the  various  strange  eatables  that  they  sell:  the 
dried  birds  and  cockroaches;  the  chufio,  or  white 
potato  (do  you  realise  that  we  owe  our  common  po- 
tato to  these  highlands  of  Peru?),  that,  boiled  with 
bits  of  fish  or  meat,  makes  the  chupe^  their  national 
dish ;  the  roundish  grains  of  the  quinoa;  the  charqui, 
or  jerked  meat  made  of  venison  or  vicuna  steaks; 
the  bags  of  coca  leaves  that  they  chew  to  deaden 
their  senses  and  efface  the  effect  of  cold,  hunger,  and 
fatigue  as  they  take  their  almost  superhuman  walks. 

We  started  on  for  Cuzco  in  the  morning,  expecting 
to  reach  it  by  night.  But  fate  willed  otherwise,  as 
you  shall  see. 

Along  the  roads  the  Indians  were  hurrying,  some 
afoot,  some  on  donkey-back,  and  once  in  a  while  we 
passed  a  single  horseman  draped  in  his  ample  poncho. 
Women,  too,  walked  briskly  with  babies  or  incred- 
ibly large  bundles  upon  their  backs,  picking  their 
skirts  high  above  their  knees  to  ford  the  streams  and 
pools. 

Beyond  San  Pablo  we  could  make  out  the  ruins  of 
the  great  temple  of  Viracocha,  off  to  the  right,  half- 

[151] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM   PANAMA 

hidden  in  a  rocky  country.  Each  station,  as  we 
passed,  was  full  of  people,  the  train  being  still  a 
novelty,  an  object  of  interest.  The  villages  became 
richer.  Pottery  roofs  supplanted  the  flimsy  thatch; 
substantial  walls  took  the  place  of  rude  adobe.  The 
now  roaring  Vilcanota  was  spanned,  as  at  Quiquijana, 
by  strong  stone  bridges.  The  fields  were  rich  and 
the  hills  terraced  far  up  toward  their  summits. 

The  Incas  surpassed  all  the  American  races  as 
husbandmen.  Agriculture  was  the  key-note  of  their 
peaceful  civilisation.  The  Inca  himself  set  an  exam- 
ple to  his  subjects  by  going  out  each  year  to  the  fields 
upon  one  of  the  great  festivals  and  turning  the  sod 
with  a  golden  plough.  One-third  of  all  the  land  was 
reserved  for  him  (that  is,  for  government),  one-third 
for  the  practices  of  religion,  and  the  remaining  third 
was  equally  distributed  among  the  people.  Each 
man  upon  his  marriage  was  given  an  extra  piece  and 
likewise  upon  the  birth  of  each  child,  twice  as  much 
for  a  boy  as  for  a  girl.  Besides  cultivating  his  own 
portion,  he  was  obliged  to  work  one-third  of  his  time 
upon  the  Inca's  land  and  one-third  upon  the  Sun's. 
Thus,  like  bees,  they  droned  for  their  Inca  in  a  sort  of 
socialistic  equality.    By  patient  toil  and  the  force  of 

[152] 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  INCAS 

numbers,  combined  with  skilful  irrigation  and  fer- 
tilising (even  the  use  of  guano  was  known  to  them), 
they  brought  these  highland  valleys  and  terraced 
hills  to  a  state  of  productiveness  that  they  have  never 
since  attained  under  their  Spanish  conquerors. 

Most  of  the  great  work  of  the  Incas — their  mighty 
roads  that  connected  Quito  with  Cuzco;  their  aque- 
ducts, sometimes  hundreds  of  miles  in  length;  their 
rich  andenes — have  fallen  to  ruin,  but  enough  of  them 
remain  to  put  to  shame  the  feeble  efforts  of  their  con- 
querors. 

About  four  hours  beyond  Sicuani  the  train  stopped 
at  a  place  called  Urcos.  Upon  one  side  of  the  track 
stood  the  station;  upon  the  other  a  sort  oi  fonda — 
eating-house  and  lodgings  combined.  No  town  was 
in  sight.  The  minutes  passed  by,  and  presently  men 
began  to  drop  off  and  ask  questions  of  the  conductor. 
His  replies  were  evasive.  An  hour  passed,  and  we 
were  told  that,  owing  to  some  trouble  on  the  road 
ahead,  we  should  remain  where  we  were  till  evening. 
So,  having  nothing  better  to  do,  we  set  out  to  find 
the  town. 

Happy  thought!  For  no  sooner  had  we  climbed  a 
wide  path,  a  sort  of  causeway  lined  on  both  sides 

[  153  ] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

with  giant  cacti  of  all  descriptions,  than  we  saw  a 
picturesque  red-roofed  village  ahead  of  us.  We  were 
walking  toward  the  sun,  and  the  llamas  and  people 
coming  down  toward  us  were  edged  with  gold  and  sil- 
ver as  the  brilliant  light  caught  the  long  nap  of  their 
woolly  garments  and  fringes.  We  soon  reached  the 
first  mud-built  house  sand  stumbled  up  the  winding, 
rock-paved  streets,  climbing  higher  and  higher  to- 
ward glimpses  of  gleaming  white  walls  ahead. 

Suddenly  we  turned  into  the  village  green,  for  such 
it  truly  was,  a  perfect  pastoral  hidden  in  this  moun- 
tain valley.  Eight  giant  trees  {pisonays,  I  think  they 
are  called)  shaded  its  broad  expanse,  their  gnarled 
trunks  girdled  with  stone  seats,  their  lustrous  leaves 
shining  and  sparkling  in  the  sunlight.  In  the  shadows 
which  they  cast,  groups  of  Indian  women  squatted 
with  their  children,  and  over  by  the  village  pump 
another  group  quietly  gossiped.  An  old  Spaniard,  in 
his  threadbare  black  coat  and  flashy  tie,  returned 
slowly  from  mass.  A  broad  flight  of  steps,  orna- 
mented with  a  tall  stone  crucifix,  rose  at  the  farthest 
end  and  led  up  to  the  church,  whose  single  lava-built 
tower,  dark  and  rich  in  tone,  contrasted  pleasantly 
with  the  white  arcades  that  adjoined  it.     The  long 

[154] 


Urcos 


THE   LAND   OF  THE   INCAS 

afternoon  shadows,  the  ruddy  glow  of  the  scarlet 
costumes,  the  mighty  hills,  fat-flanked,  gouged  by 
landslides,  yet  tilled  to  their  very  summits,  composed 
a  charming  picture,  and  when  we  had  enjoyed  it  for 
some  time  we  mounted  the  steps  to  the  church. 

It,  too,  well  repaid  our  visit.  Its  walls  and  ceiling, 
though  white,  are  almost  completely  covered  with 
stencils,  executed  apparently  by  Indians,  like  those 
of  the  California  missions,  but  far  richer  in  design 
and  bolder  and  more  vigorous  in  pattern,  and  par- 
ticularly powerful  in  tone.  They  form  the  back- 
ground for  a  multitude  of  objects:  paintings,  not 
very  good,  to  be  sure,  but  following  the  fine  old  His- 
panic tradition  and  set  in  their  original  richly  carved 
and  gilded  frames;  polychrome  statues  of  saints  and 
martyrs  in  the  golden  niches  of  side  altars,  mingled 
with  bits  of  altar-cloths  and  laces  and  old  Spanish 
mirrors.  The  vandal  hand  of  no  city  antiquary  has 
as  yet  defiled  this  little  treasure-house.  May  my 
pen  never  guide  one  thither! 

As  w^e  emerged  from  the  portal  a  small  voice  piped 
up  and  asked  if  we  should  like  to  see  the  lake. 

The  Lake  of  Urcos?  Why  had  that  name  a  familiar 
sound?     Guided  by  our  small  conductor,  we  soon 

[155] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

came  upon  it  set  like  lovely  Nemi  in  its  round  vol- 
canic basin,  a  mirror  reflecting  the  azure  sky.  The 
Lake  of  Urcos?  I  was  still  puzzled,  but  soon  had 
solved  the  mystery. 

Now  I  remembered  the  passage  in  Garcilasso. 
Huayna  Capac,  last  of  the  great  Incas,  upon  the 
birth  of  the  son  that  was  to  succeed  him,  caused  to 
be  forged  a  chain  of  gold,  long  enough,  we  are  told, 
to  stretch  around  the  great  square  at  Cuzco.  And 
the  Inca  named  his  son  Huascar,  a  chain.  At  the 
approach  of  the  Spaniards  this  triumph  of  the  gold- 
smith's art,  a  veritable  fortune,  was  thrown,  accord- 
ing to  common  belief,  into  this  Lake  of  Urcos.  Va- 
rious attempts  have  been  made  to  dredge  its  waters 
and  recover  the  buried  treasure,  but  as  yet  all  in 
vain — again  reminding  us  of  Nemi  and  its  golden 
barge  of  Nero. 

When  we  returned  to  the  station  we  found  a  tele- 
gram from  the  superintendent  at  Arequipa  telling  us 
that  we  should  be  obliged  to  remain  at  Urcos  all 
night  owing  to  a  landslide  on  the  road  ahead. 

Now  were  we  glad,  indeed,  of  our  private  car,  for 
the  rest  of  the  passengers  had  to  make  the  best  of  it 
in  the  crowded  quarters  of  the  fonda,  four  in  a  room. 

[  156  ] 


THE  LAND   OF  THE   INCAS 

The  cholos  slept  upon  the  benches  of  their  second- 
class  coach.  Faithful  old  Prudenzio,  our  Indian 
cook,  had  been  off  shopping  in  the  town  and  we  en- 
joyed our  good  dinner  sitting  by  the  window  watching 
the  natives  with  their  long  trains  of  llamas  or  donkeys 
making  their  way  up  the  steep  pathways  that  lead  to 
their  mountain  homes. 

Where  do  they  dwell?  Neither  house  nor  village 
was  visible  upon  these  rocky  heights,  yet  doubtless 
hidden  within  their  defiles  nestle  lonely  huts  protected 
from  wintry  winds. 

The  water-carriers  staggered  toward  the  village 
under  the  weight  of  their  earthen  ollas;  the  sad 
strains  of  a  yaravi  floated  over  the  meadows;  the 
Vilcanota,  rushing  to  swell  the  Amazon,  murmured 
in  the  distance;  the  stars  shone  resplendent  in  the 
purity  of  the  mountain  air.  What  a  happy  day, 
unplanned  and  unpremeditated,  we  had  spent  quite 
by  chance  in  this  peaceful  country-side — this  won- 
derful land  of  the  Incas! 

But  next  morning,  when  told  that  we  should  not 
start  for  Cuzco  until  noon,  I  began  to  be  anxious. 
We  were  at  the  beginning  of  Holy  Week,  and  I  had 
been  especially  planning  to  reach  the  Inca  capital  on 

[157] 


PACIFIC   SHORES   FROM  PANAMA 

this  particular  day,  the  feast  of  Our  Lord  of  the 
Earthquakes — the  principal  Indian  festival  of  the 
year.  The  great  procession  was  to  leave  the  cathe- 
dral at  four  o'clock,  and  Urcos  is  more  than  two 
hours'  ride  from  Cuzco.  We  spent  the  morning 
sketching  in  the  village,  however,  and  in  visiting  a 
hospitable  Spanish  family,  who  asked  us  in  (strangers 
are  a  rarity,  indeed,  in  Urcos)  to  regale  us  with  sweet- 
meats and  coffee.  A  reassuring  telegram  awaited  us 
upon  our  return  to  the  station,  telling  us  that  we 
should  leave  by  one  o'clock.    All  might  yet  be  well. 

And  at  one  we  left.  A  quick  trip  through  a  suc- 
cession of  lovely  valleys,  where  haciendas  with  long 
arcades  sat  embowered  in  eucalyptus  groves,  brought 
us  to  the  considerable  town  of  San  Jeronimo,  really 
a  suburb  of  Cuzco. 

The  railroad  here  makes  an  ascent,  and  at  each 
curve  of  the  road  we  tried  to  obtain  our  first  glimpse 
of  this  sacred  city  of  the  Incas.  At  last,  at  a  turning, 
there  it  lay  with  its  domes  and  towers,  its  ring  of 
encircling  mountains,  its  red-roofed  houses  lying  flat 
along  its  regular  streets. 


[158] 


CUZCO,  THE  INCA  CAPITAL 


CUZCO,  THE  INCA  CAPITAL 

THE  neat  new  station  (the  road  has  been  only 
open  a  year  or  two)  Hes  outside  the  city 
walls.  We  lost  no  time  in  jumping  into  an 
old  tram-car  drawn  by  four  mules,  and  presently 
were  rattling  through  the  narrow,  crooked  streets  of 
the  lower  town,  one  of  the  worst  quarters  of  the  city 
— the  dirtiest  district  of  a  dirty  town. 

But  all  this  was  forgotten  when  we  turned  into  the 
main  plaza  of  the  city.  Picturesque  arcaded  houses 
surround  it  on  every  side;  the  great  church  of  the 
Compafiia,  with  its  belfries  and  domes,  looms  up  in 
the  centre  of  the  southern  side ;  while  upon  its  east- 
ern front  the  grand  cathedral  faces  the  setting  sun, 
raised  high  upon  its  lofty  grada. 

Grouped  upon  these  steps  and  in  the  plaza  stood 
thousands  of  Indians — they  told  us  fifteen  thousand. 
Not  shiftless,  half-breed  Indians  in  cast-off  European 

[161] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

clothes,  but  fine-looking  fellows  developed  like  ath- 
letes by  their  hardy  mountain  life  and  draped  in 
their  most  brillian'.  ponchos  with  their  most  elaborate 
pointed  caps  upon  their  heads.  The  garrison,  Indians, 
too,  except  for  the  officers,  stood  drawn  up  at  at- 
tention. A  portion  of  the  centre  of  the  plaza  was 
reserved  for  gentlefolk,  and  to  this  we  made  our  way 
and  w^ere  kindly  admitted  by  the  sentries  on  guard. 

We  had  scarcely  taken  our  places  before  the  cathe- 
dral when  its  sixteen  bells  began  to  toll,  the  rich 
tones  of  the  great  Maria  Angola,  whose  voice  can  be 
heard  for  miles,  sounding  the  deepest  bass. 

A  movement  swept  over  the  populace.  The  In- 
dians dropped  upon  their  knees;  the  Spaniards  re- 
moved their  hats.  From  the  door  of  the  cathe- 
dral issued  the  procession.  First  came  the  alcaldes, 
the  Indian  mayors  of  all  the  provincial  towns  and 
villages,  each  carrying  his  great  staff  of  office,  a 
baton  or  cane  varying  in  its  size  and  the  richness  of 
its  silver  ornaments  according  to  the  importance  of 
his  community,  some  as  tall  as  the  men  themselves, 
as  thick  as  their  fists,  bound  round  and  round  with 
broad  bands  of  silver  engraved  with  rich  designs. 
Next  followed  the  brotherhoods,  wearing,  like  those 

[1G2] 


\    ■  r*'  - 

'    y^'"^^^  ■■\i    ,rf 

j 


i)/'.''!^ 


CD 


PACIFIC   SHORES   FRO^I   PANAMA 

of  Spain  and  Italy,  hoods  that  concealed  their  fac-es; 
then  the  monks  from  the  convents,  mostly  Francis- 
cans; then  the  civil  authorities  of  Cnzco,  the  pjrefect 
of  the  department,  the  mayor,  and  other  dignitaries; 
and  after  them  the  '"'Santo,'*  followed  by  the  clergj- 
massed  about  their  bishop. 

The  Santo,  or  saint,  is  a  great  figure,  some  eight 
feet  high,  of  the  Christ  crucified — a  fine  piece' of  wood- 
carving  sent  over  to  the  cathedral  in  the  days  of  its 
infancy  by  the  Emperor,  Charies  the  Fifth.  It  is 
the  Indian's  most  revered  image — his  special  patron 
saint,  stained  by  time,  and  j>erhap5  by  art  as  well, 
the  colour  of  his  own  dark  skin.  Many  miracles  are 
attributed  to  it,  among  others  the  c-essation  of  the 
great  earthquake  of  16.50,  whence  its  name.  Our  Lord 
of  the  Earthquakes. 

Onc-e  a  year,  and  once  only,  on  this  particular 
Monday  of  Holy  Week,  it  is  taken  from  its  glass- 
enclosed  chapel,  put  upon  its  bulkj*  pedestal,  a 
mass  of  silver  so  hea\y  that  thirty-two  men  stagger 
beneath  its  weight,  while  others  follow  along  beside, 
ready  to  relieve  them  at  frequent  inter\'al5. 

Thus,  attended  h)V  the  ci\'il  and  ecclesiastical  au- 
thorities,  it  is  taken  in  solemn  state  to  the  principal 

[164] 


crzco.  THE  ixca  capital 

churches  of  the  cltv,  followed  bv  the  i^arrison,  whose 
mutfled  drums  play  funeral  marches  on  the  way.  As 
it  leaves  the  cathedral,  boys,  tied  high  up  to  the  pillars 
of  the  portal,  throw  masses  of  crimson  leaves  upon  it 
(the  nuccJiu,  or  funeral  flower  of  the  Incas),  redden- 
ing all  its  upper  surfaces  as  with  a  shower  of  blood. 

Swaying  liack  and  forth  upon  its  many  unsteady 
human  les:^,  slowlv  it  makes  its  wav  throui^h  the 
silent,  kneeling  throng  toward  Santa  Teresa.  In  the 
open  square  l)efore  this  church  tlie  women  are  con- 
gregated, and,  as  they  see  it  approach,  they  begin  to 
moan  and  beat  their  breasts;  tears  start  from  their 
eves  and  their  emotion  is  evidentlv  intense.  Here 
also  boys  about  the  portal  shower  the  funeral  flowers. 
AYe  did  not  wait  to  follow  it  farther,  but  made  our 
way  back  to  the  main  plaza,  there  to  await  its  return. 
A  kintl  voung  Peruvian,  noting  that  we  were  stran- 
gers,  witli  true  courtesy  invited  us  to  occupy  a  win- 
dow in  his  home  just  opposite  the  cathedral. 

The  sun  had  now  set.  Darkness  was  creeping  on. 
The  Indians  were  slowlv  coming  back  into  the  plaza. 
A  few  lights  twinkled  from  one  or  two  street-lamps — 
and  I  n\ean  lamps  literally,  for  gas  has  not  yet  ap- 
peared in  Cuzco. 

[  1^'.>  1 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM   PANAMA 

From  the  direction  of  La  Merced  came  the  sound 
of  mournful  music.  The  great  plaza  had  filled  again 
with  people,  a  huge,  silent  throng.  From  one  corner 
emerged  the  procession,  now  lit  by  flickering  candles 
and  dominated  by  the  great  dark  figure  of  El  Senor 
de  los  Temblores.  Slowly  the  lights  approached  the 
cathedral,  finally  mounting  its  long  grees  and  group- 
ing themselves  against  the  tight-shut  doors  of  the 
central  portal  that  formed  a  bright  background. 

The  great  throng  in  the  plaza  was  kneehng,  and, 
as  the  black  figure  of  the  Santo  mounted  the  steps  and 
appeared  silhouetted  against  the  doors,  a  great  moan, 
a  sort  of  collective  sob,  sweUing  to  a  barbaric  howl 
— a  sound  such  as  I  had  never  heard  before — as  if 
in  the  presence  of  some  dire  calamity,  swelled  from 
the  poor  Indian  throats;  the  black  crucifix  made 
three  stately  bow^s,  to  the  north,  to  the  w^est,  to  the 
south,  in  sign  of  benediction;  a  sigh  of  relief  and  a 
shudder  passed  over  the  square;  the  huge  cathedral 
doors  swung  open;  the  black  hole  swallowed  the 
image  and  the  candles;  the  portals  closed  again,  and 
all  was  finished. 

I  offer  no  comment  upon  this  weird  ceremony. 
But  in  its  spectacular  appeal  to  the  primitive  senses 

[1G6] 


CUZCO,  THE  INCA  CAPITAL 

it  impressed  us  more  than  any  other  rehgious  festival 
we  had  ever  seen. 


The  ancient  city  of  Cuzco,  when  first  viewed  by 
European  eyes,  was,  according  to  the  best  authorities. 


"41 

Old  View  of  Cuzco  after  Ramusid's  Woodcut 

a  great  and  wealthy  municipality  of  perhaps  two 
hundred  thousand  souls.  How  old  it  was  at  that 
time  we  have  scant  means  of  knowing.  Garcilasso 
would  have  us  believe  that  there  were  only  thirteen 
Incas  in  the  royal  line  from  Manco  Capac  to  Huayna 
Capac;  Montesinos,  on  the  other  hand,  assures  us 
that  the  Incas  ruled  for  a  thousand  years!  Which 
are  we  to  believe.^     No  written  history  of  the  race 

[167] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

exists — only  the  records  of  the  quipus,  those  queer 
knotted  strings  that  were  the  Incas'  sole  documents 
and  for  which  no  archaeologist  has  as  yet  discovered 
the  key,  the  Rosetta  stone. 

Cuzco's  original  plan  was,  singularly  enough,  that 
of  the  Roman  camp,  a  quadrangle  divided  by  two 
intersecting  streets  into  quarters,  with  a  gate  on  each 
face  and  towers  at  the  angles.  Ramusio  gives  an 
interesting  woodcut,  here  reproduced,  of  the  city  as 
it  appeared  to  the  conquerors. 

The  Incas,  like  the  citizens  of  the  United  States, 
had  no  more  definite  name  for  their  country  than 
Tavantinsuyu,  the  Empire  of  the  Four  Provinces. 
The  four  streets  of  the  capital,  prolonged  by  great 
roads,  divided  it  into  four  main  provinces,  each 
under  the  dominion  of  its  governor.  When  their 
people  came  to  Cuzco  they  lodged  in  their  own 
quarter,  where  they  adhered  to  the  costumes  and 
customs  of  their  own  province. 

The  city  to-day  retains  the  same  general  plan,  its 
two  principal  streets  being  practically  the  old  main 
thoroughfares.  Its  two  eastern  quarters  lie  upon  steep 
hillsides;  the  two  western  are  in  the  valley  where 
runs  a  little  river,  the  Huatanay,  spanned  by  bridges. 

[1G8] 


i'*t  r-.'  'l 


f0l^jm^-Mi^  .5.- ;^-^ 


^rco  di  Sta.  Clara,  Cuzco 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

The  northeast  quarter  was  the  Palatine  Hill  of 
this  South  American  Rome,  and  contains  the  palaces 
of  the  kings,  for  each  Inca,  after  the  manner  of  the 
Roman  emperors,  built  his  own  abode,  scorning  to 
live  in  that  of  his  predecessor.  Along  the  steep  streets 
of  this  portion  of  the  city  extensive  remains  of  the 
foundations  and  walls  of  these  palaces  still  remain, 
their  giant  stones  and  perfect  masonry  provoking 
the  constant  wonder  of  the  traveller.  Pictures  of 
them  give  but  a  poor  impression,  for  the  heavy  rustic 
finish  of  the  face  of  each  stone  hides  the  perfection 
of  the  joints,  which  are  so  finely  fitted  that,  devoid 
of  mortar  as  they  are,  the  blade  of  a  small  pocket- 
knife  can  scarcely  be  inserted  into  any  one  of  them. 

The  Incas  were  not  artists.  Their  buildings  dis- 
played neither  imagination  nor  beauty  of  detail,  but 
were  characterised  rather  by  stern  simplicity  and 
extreme  solidity  of  construction.  Had  they  not  been 
used  as  quarries  they  undoubtedly  would  all  be 
standing  to-day,  singularly  well  adapted  as  they  are 
to  the  climatic  conditions  of  this  high-lying  country, 
resisting  storm  and  earthquake  alike  where  the  more 
modern  Spanish  buildings  crumble  to  decay. 

The  most  extensive  ruins  left  by  the  Incas,  and 

[170] 


Inca  Rnccns  Palace 


CUZCO,  THE  INCA  CAPITAL 

perhaps  the  most  interesting,  are  those  of  the  great 
fortress  Sachsahuaman,  that  stands  perched  upon 
the  summit  of  a  steep  hill  to  the  north  of  the  town. 

To  reach  it  you  must  climb  between  garden  walls, 
up  lanes  laid  out  in  rough  steps,  until  you  come  to  a 
little  plaza  in  front  of  the  chapel  of  San  Cristobal. 
The  cura  was  pacing  up  and  down  before  his  church 
when  we  stopped  to  ask  him  a  question.  He  immedi- 
ately became  communicative  and  we  were  glad  that 
we  had  spoken,  for  he  pointed  out  to  us  the  many 
curiosities  of  his  small  domain.  There  was  a  queer 
row  of  pillories  in  which  thieves  were  exhibited  in  the 
olden  days;  there  was  a  curious  Inca  fountain,  un- 
couthly  cut  to  represent  a  female  form,  and  near  by, 
in  a  garden,  raised  upon  a  stone  terrace,  was  all  that 
remains  of  the  ancient  palace  of  Manco  Capac,  who, 
according  to  legend,  was  the  founder  of  the  royal 
dynasty.  This,  to  my  mind,  is  the  building  that  oc- 
cupies the  important  north  end  of  the  city  in  Ramu- 
sio's  w^ood-block. 

The  property  now  belongs  to  a  resident  of  Cuzco, 
an  Italian,  who  has  made  it  his  quinta^  or  country 
home,  and  it  is  a  charming  spot  indeed,  nestled  in  a 
rustling  forest  of  eucalypti.     There  are  several  im- 

[171] 


PACIFIC   SHORES   FROM   PANAMA 

portant  Inca  fragments  scattered  among  these  trees 
— sections  of  handsome  walls,  a  well-preserved  door- 
way, and  extensive  remains  of  terraces. 

The  road  thence  up  the  mountain  is  a  stiff  climb 
in  this  altitude,  and  more  than  once  we  stopped  to 
rest  and  catch  our  breath,  and  regret  that  we  had 
not  ordered  donkeys  on  which  to  scramble  up  the 
rocky  paths.  Several  times  we  passed  llama  trains 
coming  down,  and  had  to  climb  in  the  rocks  to  let 
the  clumsy  beasts  go  by.  Finally  we  reached  the 
first  huge  stones  of  the  fortress  and  entered  its  portal, 
which,  with  its  steps,  is  still  in  good  preservation. 

Enough  of  the  great  walls  remains  to  amaze  one 
with  their  formidable  character  and  vast  extent. 
The  Indians  consider  them  the  works  of  the  Evil 
One,  and  small  wonder,  for  how  human  hands  ever 
reared  these  mighty  stones  upon  this  mountain  top 
is  quite  beyond  one's  powers  of  speculation.  The 
fort  presents  but  a  single  line  of  defence,  some  twelve 
hundred  feet  long,  toward  the  city,  where  the  hill 
itself  is  so  steep  that  it  affords  the  best  possible  pro- 
tection, but  to  the  country  behind  it  shows  three 
massive  walls  placed  one  above  the  other,  arranged 
with  salients  (a  device  unknown  to  Europeans  of  that 

[172] 


CUZCO,  THE  INCA  CAPITAL 

period)  and  breast-works  for  the  defenders.  The 
stones  are  cyclopean,  many  of  them  being  eighteen  to 
twenty  feet  long  and  almost  the  same  in  height;  the 
largest,  w^e  are  told,  measuring  no  less  than  thirty- 
eight  feet  in  length. 

Crowning  these  mighty  walls  was  the  fortress 
proper,  consisting  of  three  towers.  The  central  one, 
the  largest,  was  reserved  for  the  Inca  himself  and 
contained  his  royal  apartments.  The  other  two  were 
for  the  garrison  commanded  by  a  noble  of  the  royal 
family.  As  in  many  mediaeval  fortress  castles,  sub- 
terranean passages,  also  built  of  stone,  connected 
these  towers  with  the  town  below,  thus  affording  a 
retreat  for  the  Inca  in  time  of  peril. 

Upon  the  hill-slopes  behind  the  fortress,  in  fields 
of  flowering  shrubs,  where  paroquets  make  their 
homes,  stand  some  strange  rocks  called  by  the 
natives  "thrones  of  the  Inca."  They  are  certainly 
cut  with  the  nicest  precision,  each  edge  as  sharp  as 
it  ever  was,  but  I  can  scarcely  see  the  reason  for  the 
appellation. 

We  returned  to  the  city  toward  sundown.  The 
views,  as  we  descended,  were  beautiful.  The  lovely 
valley,  dotted  with  eucalyptus  groves,  lay  green  and 

[173] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

radiant  below  us,  framed  by  its  towering  mountains 
that  peeped  over  each  other's  shoulders  as  they 
stretched  away,  fold  upon  fold,  dimmer  and  yet  more 
distant  until  they  disappeared  in  far  perspectives. 

The  city  that  lay  be- 
neath us,  one-storied 
for  the  most  part,  flat 
along  its  regular 
streets,  looks  quite  as 
it  must  have  appeared 
to  the  Inca  sitting  in 
his  fortress  tower. 
Only  now  pottery 
roofs  replace  the 
thatch  of  straw  or  of 
ychu  grass  that  covered  the  older  houses,  and  the 
belfries  and  domes  of  numerous  Spanish  churches 
have  supplanted  the  gilded  walls  and  cumbersome 
masonry  of  the  ancient  Inca  temples. 

These  last  lay  for  the  most  part  in  the  southeast 
quarter  of  the  city  and  were  dominated  by  the  great 
Temple  of  the  Sun,  the  most  revered  sanctuary  in  all 
the  empire,  called  by  the  people  Coricancha,  the 
Place  of  Gold.     And  well  it  deserved  its  name,  for, 

[174] 


Old  Stone  Model  of  Sachsahuamdn 


5*sr!ir?7J? 


CUZCO,  THE  INCA  CAPITAL 

according  to  all  accounts,  its  walls  were  a  perfect 
mine  of  the  precious  metal.  Mortised  into  the  great 
stones  of  its  exterior  walls,  a  frieze  of  gold,  "of  a 
palm  and  a  half"  in  width,  encircled  the  entire  edi- 
fice. The  interior  was  ablaze,  as  befitted  a  temple 
dedicated  to  the  glory  of  light. 

In  the  centre  of  the  western  wall  a  giant  sun,  repre- 
sented by  a  human  countenance  from  w^hich  rays  of 
light  sprang  in  various  directions,  glowed  in  all  the 
splendour  of  gold  and  jewels.  The  great  eastern  por- 
tal was  placed  directly  opposite  and  arranged  so  that 
the  sun,  with  its  first  ray,  gilded  this  golden  effigy 
that  thus  threw  off  a  strange  effulgence.  The  walls 
and  ceiling  were  incrusted  with  gold  and  the  mum- 
mies of  all  the  Incas,  dressed  as  on  occasions  of  state, 
with  their  coy  as,  or  queens,  sat  about  upon  golden 
thrones. 

Adjoining  this  main  temple  lesser  shrines  were 
arranged.  In  that  dedicated  to  the  moon,  for  exam- 
ple, all  was  of  silver,  a  silvery  moon  replacing  the 
golden  sun.  These  buildings  were  each  set  in  ex- 
tensive gardens,  whose  flowers  and  plants  and  ani- 
mals were  of  gold  and  silver,  simulating  with  real 
skill  the  products  of  nature. 

[175] 


"'f^^ 


4  '^mm.~^^-  ■  ■ 


-if  '■ 


w^ 


n 


/lp»s  0/  Santo  Domingo  Built  upon  the  Temple  of  Ike  Sun 


CUZCO,  THE  INCA  CAPITAL 

Let  him  who  doubts  these  tales  remember  that 
gold  in  the  eyes  of  the  Peruvian  Indian  of  that  day 
had  no  monetary  value  wLatever,  that  money  did  not 
exist — that  gold,  in  the  popular  parlance,  was  "the 
tears  wept  by  the  sun"  and  that  all  of  it  found  in  the 
rich  mines  of  Peru,  the  real  Eldorado  of  the  New 
World  during  the  Spanish  colonial  period,  was  sent 
either  to  the  Inca  or  to  his  temples.  Atahualpa,  for 
his  ransom,  almost  filled  with  golden  vessels  a  room 
thirty-three  feet  by  twenty,  representing  a  value  in 
our  money  of  some  seventeen  million  dollars.  What 
a  sum  in  those  days  before  the  discovery  of  the  great 
gold  mines  of  modern  times! 

Dr.  Caparo  Muniz,  who  possesses  a  remarkable 
collection  of  Inca  antiquities,  showed  me  a  curious 
stone  that  he  had  unearthed  on  a  farm  some  twelve 
leagues  from  Cuzco,  at  a  place  called  Yayamarca,  the 
Place  of  the  Lord.  It  is  carved  to  represent  a  ground- 
plan  of  the  Temple  of  the  Sun,  and  so  interested  me 
that  I  made  a  drawing  of  it,  which  I  here  present.  It 
corresponds  quite  perfectly  with  the  remains  of  the 
sanctuary  that  still  exist. 

These  consist  of  important  portions  of  its  circular 
walls  and  a  number  of  those  singular  niches  that 

[177] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

taper  in  toward  the  top  like  those  of  the  edifices  of 
Egypt.  Extensive  interior  walls  of  perfect  masonry 
are  incorporated  in  the  present  church  and  convent 


Inca  Stone  Represenling  a  Plan  of  the  Temple  of  the  Sun 

of  Santo  Domingo  that  the  conquerors  built  immedi- 
ately over  the  pagan  temple. 

I  visited  this  old  church  with  the  rector  of  the  uni- 
versity, who  was  kindness  itself  to  us  during  our  stay, 
and  Padre  Vasquez,  the  amiable  prior  of  the  monas- 
tery, took  us  about  in  person.  Strangely  enough,  it 
was  the  first  time  that  these  two  men  had  met,  for 
the  prior  was  comparatively  a  new-comer  to  Cuzco, 
so  I  benefited  by  the  enthusiasm  of  their  first  visit 
together. 

[178] 


CUZCO,  THE  INCA  CAPITAL 

We  inspected  in  turn  the  cloister  courts,  the  church, 
and  all  the  intricate  by-ways  of  its  corridors  and 
stairways.  The  Christian  temple  is  doubtless  in- 
teresting, but  the  walls  that  it  stands  upon  and  that 
crop  out  here  and  there  in  its  fabric  were  the  subject 
of  our  w^onder.  Theirs  is  the  most  perfect  masonry 
of  any  of  the  Inca  ruins  that  I  saw.  These  are  the 
massive  smooth-faced  stones  that  Sarmiento  saw  and 
commended,  whose  joints  are  so  nicely  wrought 
that  they  can  scarcely  be  detected.  How  a  nation, 
without  iron  or  steel — with  only  champi,  a  mixture 
of  copper  and  tin — to  aid  them,  could  have  produced 
such  finish  will  always  be  a  matter  of  wonder.  They 
certainly  possessed  some  secret  for  cutting  stone  that 
we  do  not  know  to-day. 

Near  this  Church  of  Saint  Dominic  stands  the  con- 
vent of  the  nuns  of  Santa  Catalina,  built  upon  the 
ruins  of  what  was,  in  the  time  of  the  Incas,  the  House 
of  the  Virgins  of  the  Sun,  a  huge  structure  some  eight 
hundred  feet  in  length.  These  girls,  chosen  by  the 
provincial  governors  from  among  the  most  beautiful 
in  the  kingdom,  tended  the  sacred  fire  in  the  temples, 
their  duties  being  curiously  analogous  to  those  of  the 
Roman  vestal  virgins.    Their  guardians,  the  mama- 

[179] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

cunas,  taught  them  weaving  and  spinning,  and  from 
among  them  were  selected  the  Inca's  many  concu- 
bines. Once  in  a  while  one  of  them  was  chosen  for 
sacrifice,  but  this  was  a  very  rare  occurrence,  as  the 
religion  of  the  Incas  only  permitted  of  human  sacri- 
fice on  occasion  of  exceptional  importance,  thereby 
differing  materially  from  the  rites  of  other  American 
races — the  wholesale  slaughters  of  the  Aztecs,  for 
example. 

Soon  after  the  conquest  the  Spaniards  built  three 
great  churches  in  Cuzco,  three  churches  worthy  of  a 
European  capital.  Unlike  the  churches  of  Lima, 
these  happily  have  escaped  remodelling. 

Two  of  them,  the  cathedral  and  the  Compania, 
face  upon  the  main  plaza,  the  heart  of  the  city;  the 
third,  La  Merced,  is  but  a  step  away.  All  three  are 
in  the  style  of  the  Spanish  Renaissance,  patterned, 
let  us  say,  from  such  a  church  as  San  Lorenzo  of  the 
Escurial. 

The  interior  of  the  Compania  is  the  handsomest  of 
the  three.  Its  pillars,  with  their  simple  capitals,  and 
its  well-designed  architrave  support  wide-spreading 
stone  arches  and  broad  vaults  of  brick.  The  great 
retablo  that  occupies  its  entire  east  end,  though  de- 

[180] 


■~  .>^- 


fl      ,<■) 


ri  i 


m 


w^ 


Tlaza  and  Chirch  of  the  CompaMa,  Cuzco 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

fective  in  general  design,  with  its  bulky  columns  and 
broken  pediments,  is  filled  with  such  fine  detail — 
saints  and  angels,  paintings  and  niches,  rising  tier 
above  tier  upon  its  golden  cornices — that  you  forget 
the  one  in  the  admiration  of  the  other.  Its  gilding, 
too — as,  for  the  matter  of  that,  the  gilding  in  all  these 
Peruvian  churches — is  wonderful,  done  with  the  rich, 
pure  metal  that  was  found  in  such  comparative 
abundance  at  the  time  of  the  conquest.  And  the 
dust  of  centuries  combined  w^ith  the  finger  of  time 
has  imparted  to  this  gold,  too  gaudy  perhaps  in  its 
pristine  glory,  a  patina  of  rare  mellowness  with  a 
depth  and  glint  in  the  shadow  that  I  have  never  seen 
equalled  elsewhere. 

The  gold  of  the  pulpit  is  perhaps  the  most  beauti- 
ful of  all — in  fact,  the  pulpit  itself  is  a  gem,  remark- 
able alike  for  the  beauty  of  its  design  and  its  exquisite 
workmanship,  to  my  mind  a  far  finer  work  of  art  than 
the  more  famous  one  at  San  Bias,  which,  though  a 
marvel  indeed  of  the  wood-carver's  art,  is  too  ornate 
and  too  charged  with  intricate  detail  to  merit  its 
high  repute. 

Several  of  the  original  polychrome  figures  of  saints 
still  remain  in  the  niches  of  the  south  transept,  and 

[182] 


CUZCO,  THE  INCA  CAPITAL 

above  them  a  long  fresco  unrolls  itself  across  the  big 
lunette,  a  queer  procession  of  black-robed  monks, 
which,  though  of  a  much  later  period,  has  a  Giot- 
tesque  quality  in  the  simplicity  of  its  silhouettes  and 
backgrounds. 

Near  the  main  portal  are  other  notable  pictures, 
significant  perhaps  more  by  reason  of  their  subjects 
than  for  their  technique.  One  is  of  distinct  historic 
interest,  depicting  the  marriage  of  Don  Martin  de 
Loyola  to  Da.  Beatris  Nusta,  Princesa  del  Peru,  a 
descendant  of  the  royal  Incas.  A  strange  bird  is 
perched  upon  the  bride's  wrist,  and  she  wears  a  cape 
and  a  gown  elaborately  embroidered  with  the  nucchu, 
the  favourite  flower  of  the  Incas.  Sairitupa  and 
Tupa  Amaru,  royal  personages  in  rich  Inca  dress,  sit 
upon  thrones  to  the  left,  while  the  relatives  of  the 
groom  are  grouped  at  the  right  in  magnificent  Span- 
ish court  costumes,  each  detail  of  which  is  worked  out 
with  the  utmost  faithfulness. 

Adjoining  this  picture  hangs  a  queer  painting  of 
very  large  dimensions  depicting  a  priest  who,  with 
open  book,  the  "Exercicia  Spiritualia,"  is  confound- 
ing infidels,  shown  under  the  guise  of  Turks  whose 
turbans  bear  the  legends:   Luthero,  Calvino,  Melan- 

[183] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

ton,  Wiclete,  Ecolampadio.    I  have  transcribed  the 
spelling  letter  by  letter. 

Upon  our  second  visit  to  this  church  during  Holy 
Week,  the  Indians  were  decorating  the  shrines  for 
Easter,  dressing  Santiago  in  bright  colours  and  hang- 
ing flags  about  his  niche;  placing  above  the  altars 
huge  fan-shaped  ornaments  made  of  bits  of  mirror, 
pieces  of  tinsel,  and  squares  and  lozenges  of  lurid 
colours  combined  with  truly  barbaric  effect,  and 
placing  before  these,  little  rows  of  monks  and  figures 
cut  out  of  paper  and  dishes  filled  with  grains  and 
fruits — all  of  which  looked  strange  indeed  in  a  Chris- 
tian temple  and  made  us  remember  that  the  Indian 
of  to-day  has  not  yet  lost  all  of  his  pagan  practices, 
a  fact  that  was  brought  back  to  us  again  and  again 
as  the  week  progressed  toward  Easter. 

The  Church  of  the  Order  of  Mercy,  La  Merced,  in 
which  the  bones  of  Almagro  and  Gonzalo  Pizarro  are 
said  to  rest,  is  chiefly  remarkable  for  its  cloisters, 
whose  massive  stone  arcades  and  monumental  stair- 
cases have  for  centuries  withstood  the  storms  of 
these  altitudes  and  are  perhaps  the  handsomest  in 
Peru,  though  not  as  picturesque  as  some  of  those  in 
Lima. 

[184] 


CUZCO,  THE  INCA  CAPITAL 

One  morning  I  visited  the  Franciscan  convent. 
The  rector,  who  again  accompanied  me,  asked  for 

Father  M ,   who  proved   to   be   a   sympathetic 

Scotchman,  artistic  to  the  tips  of  his  long,  lean  fingers, 
a  lover  of  music,  accompanying  the  organ  with  his 
violin — a  mystic  and  a  dreamer,  who  had  forsaken 
the  business  life  of  Lima  in  disgust  and  fled  to  the 
quiet  of  this  mountain  cloister.  He  kindly  guided  us 
about,  showing  us  the  strange  water-fowl  of  the 
country  gathered  in  a  circular  basin  in  one  of  the 
courts,  and  the  lovely  Spanish  tiles,  piled  in  a  mass 
in  an  outhouse,  that  had  once  been  ruthlessly 
stripped  from  the  walls  by  some  iconoclastic  prior, 
presenting  me  with  two  of  the  best  he  could  find,  and 
in  the  sacristy  he  displayed  the  vestments  of  the 
church — some  of  old  Spanish  brocade,  others  rich  in 
gold  and  jewels  quite  newly  made  by  the  nuns  of 
Santa  Catalina  who  dwell  in  the  House  of  the  Virgins 
of  the  Sun. 

So  the  days  passed  by. 

Sometimes  we  explored  the  by-ways  of  the  city, 
sketching  in  the  steep,  picturesque  streets  that  climb 
the  hills;  again  we  poked  about  the  gaudy  Indian 
shops  that  line  the  arcades  of  the  plaza  with  their 

[185] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM   PANAMA 

vivid  wares;  sometimes  we  loitered  about  the  mar- 
ket or  looked  for  Spanish  shaw  Is  and  frames  and  laces 
in  the  shops  and  houses. 

We  remained  snugly  in  our  car  during  all  our  stay, 
with  good  Prudenzio  to  cook  for  us  and  faithful  Juan 
to  serve  us,  the  hotels  of  the  town  offering  but  a 
poor  alternative  for  the  comfort  of  this  abode  out 
in  the  broad  fields  just  beyond  the  smells  and  dirt 
of  the  tow^n.  But  let  me  say  it  here — this  is  the  only 
Peruvian  city  we  visited  that  offended  us  in  this 
way,  the  other  places  being  far  cleaner  and  better 
kept  than  most  of  the  small  towns  of  Italy  or  Spain. 

The  Easter  services  did  not  prove  remarkable,  re- 
sembling in  all  their  essentials  those  we  had  seen  in 
Mediterranean  countries,  except  for  one  important 
ceremony — that  of  Holy  Thursday. 

The  interior  of  the  cathedral  at  Cuzco  is  arranged 
after  the  peculiar  fashion  of  some  Spanish  churches, 
with  its  choir  occupying  a  large  space  in  the  central 
nave.  Richly  wrought  gates  enclose  it  and  a  broad 
flight  of  carpeted  steps  lead  from  it  to  the  massive 
silver  high  altar.  This  arrangement,  though  well 
adapted  for  processionals,  blocks  the  view  of  most  of 


the  congregation. 


[186] 


^-"^^m 


Line  the  Arcades  of  the  Plaza  with  Their  Gavdy  Wares 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

On  this  particular  morning  the  bishop  himself  was 
officiating.  The  scene  was  imposing.  As  you  stood 
in  the  centre  of  the  nave  you  looked  in  one  direction 
toward  the  richly  carved  silleria,  or  stalls  of  the 
choir,  occupied  by  the  clergy  in  purple  and  black. 
Just  in  front  of  the  gilded  gates  that  shut  it  in,  the 
prefect  and  all  the  civil  authorities  in  full  uniform, 
together  with  the  superior  officers  of  the  garrison, 
sat  in  red-velvet  arm-chairs.  In  the  other  direction 
you  saw  the  high  altar  raised  upon  its  lofty  platform 
and  backed  by  a  magnificent  retahlo,  carved  and 
gilded,  that  reaches  to  the  arches  overhead.  Priests 
moved  about,  half  hidden  in  clouds  of  incense,  choir- 
boys and  assistants  walked  in  procession  between 
rows  of  people  kneeling  or  sitting  upon  the  llama- 
wool  carpets  of  the  nave,  among  them  Spanish 
women  in  black  rebosos,  Indians  in  ponchos,  and 
cholos  in  nondescript  garments,  half  Indian,  half 
European. 

Presently  all  the  assistants — priests,  dignitaries, 
and  congregation — moved  in  slow  procession  toward 
a  large  chapel  that  adjoins  the  cathedral,  the  Cora- 
zon,  or  Sacred  Heart. 

This  had  been  dressed  as  for  a  great  festival- 

[  188  ] 


.Jim 


"  T  c  E^  4„'^  t,   cZT^ 


The  Steep,  Picturesque  Streets  that  Climb  the  Hills 


PACIFIC   SHORES   FROM   PANAMA 

Upon  the  massive  silver  high  altar,  with  its  silver 
tabernacle,  handsome  candelabra  of  the  same  metal 
had  been  placed.  The  reading-desk  and  the  hanging 
lamps  were  also  of  silver,  and  in  the  nave  itself  stood 
many  of  the  two  hundred  and  eighty  silver  pieces 
given  by  the  members  of  the  Order  of  Santiago,  such 
as  huge  blandones,  or  candlesticks,  two  metres  in 
height,  censers,  in  the  form  of  tables,  of  the  same 
metal — in  fact,  a  most  extraordinary  mass  of  silver. 

Against  this  shimmering  background  a  peculiar 
ceremony  was  enacted,  at  the  end  of  which  the  pre- 
fect knelt  before  the  bishop,  who  hung  about  his 
neck  a  golden  key,  the  key  of  the  tomb,  of  which  the 
prefect  thus  became  the  custodian  until  Easter. 

In  the  late  afternoon  and  evening  the  bishop,  with 
his  clergy,  visited  all  the  churches  of  the  city  one 
after  the  other.  -  Most  of  the  people  did  likewise. 
Every  church  and  chapel  was  alight  with  thousands 
of  twinkling  candles,  and  hung  with  Easter  decora- 
tions— not  blooms  such  as  we  use,  but  great  curtains 
of  blue  studded  with  silver  stars,  yards  of  coloured 
cheese-cloth,  and  tawdry  paper  flowers. 

We  went  last  to  La  Merced  and  remained  there 
until  after  dark  watching  the  people  and  the  strange 

[  190  ] 


CUZCO,  THE  INCA  CAPITAL 

types.  When  we  emerged  night  had  closed  in.  All 
along  the  Calle  de  la  Merced,  against  the  very  walls 
of  the  church,  booths  had  sprung  up,  lit  by  splutter- 
ing, smoky  lanterns  that  cast  weird  lights  and  heavy 
shadows  upon  venders  and  purchasers  alike,  as  they 
bargained  over  tables  covered  with  white-lace  cloths. 
Upon  these  tables  lay  the  strangest-looking  sweet- 
meats prepared  ready  for  the  Easter  holidays:  can- 
died apples,  browned  and  stuck  upon  sticks;  jellied 
fruits  and  sugary  cookies;  sticky  candies;  and — a 
specialty  these — swans  or  doves  done  in  almond 
paste  and  laid  upon  plates  surrounded  by  candied 
vegetables. 

The  bishop  and  his  suite  issued  from  the  church 
door,  his  long  purple  train  carried  by  acolytes,  and 
slowly  and  with  dignity  he  took  his  way  down  the 
street  toward  his  palace  in  the  darkness.  Every  street 
that  we  looked  down  ended  in  the  night;  we,  too, 
made  our  way  toward  the  city  gate  and  the  open 
fields  under  the  stars. 


[191] 


LAKE  TITICACA 


LAKE  TITICACA 

A  LL  the  afternoon,  upon  our  return  journey  from 
/\  Cuzco,  we  had  been  speeding  through  the 
-^  ^  dreary  plains  of  the  Kollasuyu,  or  country 
of  the  Collao,  the  great  basin  that  slopes  gently  down- 
ward from  the  mountains  on  every  hand  to  form  the 
cup  that  holds  the  waters  of  Titicaca.  Even  at  this 
great  altitude  (for  we  were  more  than  twelve  thou- 
sand feet  above  the  sea)  flamingoes  stood  rosy  in  the 
pools  and  yellow  daisies  carpeted  the  tracks.  As 
we  approached  the  lake,  the  clouds  were  gathering, 
and  by  the  time  Juliaca's  church  gleamed  white 
against  its  background  hills,  giant  cumuli  were  piling 
into  the  heavens  threatening  a  downpour  at  any 
moment. 

Darkness  was  creeping  on.    The  express  from  the 
coast  came  snorting  into  the  station;    our  car  was 

[  195] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

switched  on  to  its  rear  end,  and  again  we  started  off 
in  the  night. 

In  about  an  hour  we  made  the  hghts  of  Puno  and 


Juliaca 

in  a  few  moments  drew  up  alongside  the  dock. 
The  lake  superintendent  came  into  our  coach,  fol- 
lowed by  three  Indians,  who  took  up  our  luggage. 
He  also  brought  with  him  the  captain  of  the  Coya, 

[196] 


LAKE  TITICACA 

the  steamer  that  was  to  take  us  over  to  Guaqui.  At 
no  other  spot  upon  this  globe  can  you  have  a  Hke 
experience :  an  all-night  voyage  on  a  700-ton  steamer 
(the  Inca,  her  mate,  is  900-ton  register)  across  a 
great  body  of  water  hung  two  miles  or  more  above 
the  sea. 

We  watched  the  preparations  for  departure  with 
lively  interest.  Directly  below  us,  upon  the  forward 
deck,  among  half-breeds  and  Indians  and  crates 
marked  favos  and  fatos  (ducks  and  chickens,  for  the 
La  Paz  market),  the  Bolivian  mails  lay  piled.  What 
distant  pictures  their  well-worn  sacks  evoked — the 
red-and-yellow  bags  that  carry  the  Correos  de  Espana 
from  Madrid  and  Barcelona  mingled  with  those 
barred  with  blue  that  contained  our  own  American 
mails,  and  with  other  stout  canvases  marked  "Postes 
de  France"  or  "London  to  La  Paz  via  Mollendo." 

From  the  bridge  overhead  our  British  captain  gave 
his  orders  to  cast  off  the  lines.  The  steamer  swung 
about  and  we  started  out  into  the  night.  The  moon, 
hitherto  hidden  in  filmy  clouds,  now  appeared 
dramatically  to  light  our  pathway  and  sparkle  upon 
the  rippHng  water.  The  searchlight  flashed  from 
side  to  side,  bringing  out  in  turn  the  red  buoys  that 

[197] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

mark  the  channel,  or  the  tufts  of  grass  and  reeds 

that    clothe   the    long    spits    running    out   into   the 

lake. 

Thus  we  cautiously  felt  our  way  until  the  channel 

widened,  the  searchlight  went  out,  and  the  quickened 

thud  of  the  propeller  told  us  we  were  in  open  water. 

The  hills,  indigo  in  their  blue-blackness,  began  to 
recede  and  gradually  left  us  alone.  The  clouds  drew 
aside  their  curtains  and  the  stars — so  close,  so  bright, 
so  numberless  in  this  rarefied  air — seemed  to  twinkle 
as  they  had  never  twinkled  before.  And,  as  my  eye 
singled  out  Venus,  I  thought  of  the  Incas  and  their 
reverence  for  the  stars,  especially  "Chasca,"  this 
star  of  the  "long  and  curling  locks,"  that  they  hon- 
oured as  the  special  page  of  the  sun,  sometimes  pre- 
ceding, then  again  following,  its  master. 

We  could  scarcely  make  up  our  mind  to  go  below, 
yet  the  night  air  was  chill,  and  our  cabin  snug — a 
spacious  saloon  with  three  beds  and  an  extra  couch, 
a  Vespagnolc,  for  a  servant  in  the  toilet-room. 

Late  in  the  night  we  heard  the  rain  pattering  on 
the  deck  above  us,  and  in  the  morning,  when  we 
awoke  at  daybreak,  it  was  still  showering.  No  land 
was  in  sight,  only  the  grey  waters  of  the  lake  stretch- 

[198] 


LAKE  TITICACA 

ing  off  to  meet  the  low-lying  clouds.  But  with  sun- 
rise the  mists  lifted,  gathered  themselves  together, 
and  slowly  disclosed,  along  the  water's  edge,  strips 
of  land  to  the  right — the  faint  forms  of  islands,  the 
sacred  islands  of  the  lake,  Titicaca  or  Inti-Karka, 
dedicated  to  the  sun,  and  Coati,  sacred  to  the  moon, 
in  the  very  spot  where  the  founders  of  the  Inca 
Empire,  Manco  Capac  and  his  sister-wife,  according 
to  legend,  rose  from  the  waters  of  the  lake  to  elevate 
humanity  from  its  barbarism. 

Upon  Coati,  the  ruins  of  the  convent  of  the  Virgins 
of  the  Sun  and  the  Moon  still  exist  in  good  presei- 
vation,  but  under  ordinary  circumstances  they  are 
difficult  of  access,  the  regular  steamers  making  no 
stops  at  the  islands. 

As  our  bow  silently  ploughed  its  way  through  the 
still  waters,  the  shores  drew  nearer,  the  long  penin- 
sula of  Copacabana,  a  revered  pilgrim  shrine  of  the 
Indians,  almost  blocking  the  passage  to  the  south 
end  of  the  lake.  We  entered  the  Straits  of  Tiquino, 
whose  stony  hillsides,  terraced  with  vineyards,  re- 
minded us  of  the  Rhine  country.  Little  groups  of 
thatched  mud  huts  and  pottery -roofed  houses,  hum- 
ble homes  of  these  primitive  lacustrian  peoples,  lay 

[199] 


PACIFIC   SHORES.  FROM   PANAMA 

scattered  in  the  fields  or  huddled  about  a  pointed 
belfry. 

As  we  proceeded  through  the  narrows,  the  clouds 
began  to  break  and  the  sun  to  take  possession  of  this, 
his  own  special  lake.  And  what  a  glory  he  made  of  it ! 
By  the  time  we  had  emerged  from  the  straits,  Titi- 
caca's  waters,  hitherto  grey,  sparkled  with  a  million 
diamonds  and,  as  the  patches  of  bright  sky  grew 
larger,  caught  azure  reflections  until  they  stretched 
blue,  pure  and  radiant,  off  to  the  far-distant  hills. 

Once  or  twice  we  passed  a  halsa^  gliding  quietly 
before  the  morning  breeze — a  frail  boat  of  reeds,  like 
those  we  had  seen  on  the  coast,  though  here  upon 
Titicaca  even  their  sails  are  made  of  reeds,  like 
those  of  the  children  of  Pharaoh. 

The  shore-lines,  broken,  complicated  with  numer- 
ous islands  and  inlets,  headlands  and  terraced  hills, 
presented  every  variety  of  colour  as  the  fleecy  cloud- 
shadows  mottled  their  surfaces,  rosy  or  grey,  purple 
or  violet,  and  in  the  distance  the  indigo  mountains 
of  the  Royal  Cordillera  reflected  themselves  in  the 
still  waters.  Despite  the  rarity  and  purity  of  this 
wonderful  air,  Sorata,  king  of  peaks,  remained  in- 
visible that  morning,  hiding  his  head  in  a  wreath  of 

[200] 


A  Balsa  on  Lake  Titicaca 


LAKE  TITICACA 

clouds,  but  upon  our  return  journey  he  showed  his 
elusive  summit  far  away  to  the  eastward,  the  third 
highest  peak  upon  the  globe. 

The  sky  was  an  unbroken  vault  of  blue  when  we 
reached  Guaqui.  A  battaUon  of  infantry,  out  for 
manoeuvres,  was  lounging  upon  the  wharf,  and  their 
neat  uniforms,  on  the  German  pattern,  reminded  us 
that  we  had  left  Peru  and  crossed  the  border  to 
Bolivia. 


[201] 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  BOLIVIA 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  BOLIVIA 

A  HANDSOME  young  Englishman  came 
aboard  to  meet  us,  the  superintendent  of 
the  railway.  The  same  mighty  arm  that 
had  smoothed  our  journey  thus  far  had  reached  even 
across  the  lake,  and,  by  its  ministration,  a  special 
car  was  waiting  to  take  us  on  to  La  Paz.  It  had 
further  been  kindly  arranged  that  an  engine  should 
take  this  car  immediately  to  Tiahuanaco,  leaving  it 
there  until  the  late  afternoon  passenger  picked  it  up. 
The  road  lay  across  a  bleak  pampa  of  the  Collao. 
At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  or  so  we  stopped  at  an 
isolated  station. 

Few  traces  of  the  famous  ruins  of  Tiahuanaco  ap- 
pear at  first  sight,  but  upon  walking  about  one  is 
amazed  at  their  great  extent.  Baffling  indeed  they 
remain.  Even  the  most  vivid  effort  of  the  imagina- 
tion can  do  little  toward  reconstructing  them.    And 

[  205  ] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM   PANAMA 

if  a  learned  man  like  Humboldt  dare  not  venture  to 
fathom  their  mysteries,  and  such  a  ripened  traveller 


Ruinn  of  Tiahuanaco 

as  Squier  calls  them  the  "most  enigmatical  upon  the 
continent,"  what  guess  may  a  mere  searcher  for  the 
picturesque  dare  hazard?  Old  they  are  certainly, 
of  a  date  far  preceding  the  Inca  period;    but  what 

[20G] 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  BOLIVIA 

they  were,  where  and  by  whom  quarried,  and  how 
transported  to  their  present  situation — one  monohth 
is  estimated  to  weigh  seven  hundred  tons — all  these 
are  matters  of  pure  conjecture. 

Did  a  member  of  some  Toltec  band  that  wandered 
southward  carve  the  curious  figure  that  I  have 
sketched,  so  strangely  like  those  in  Central  America, 
or  was  the  stone-cutter  a  native  of  these  Andean 
table-lands,  some  artisan  working  out  his  own  idea 
of  art  expression?  An  Aymara  tradition  declares 
that  these  sculptured  images  are  the  original  inhabit- 
ants turned  to  stone  for  their  wickedness  by  Tunupa, 
who  was  unable  to  reform  them.  The  Aymaras, 
who,  apparently,  are  oldest  of  the  American  peoples, 
have  a  curious  account  of  the  creation  of  the  world. 
It  asserts  that,  in  the  beginning,  Khunu,  arch- 
enemy of  man  and  cause  of  all  his  troubles,  froze 
the  earth  and  by  continued  drought  converted  fer- 
tile plains  into  sterile  deserts,  depriving  man  of  all 
that  was  necessary  to  his  existence  and  reducing  him 
to  the  level  of  the  lower  animals.  But  Pachacamac, 
creator  of  the  world,  supreme  spirit  and  regulator  of 
the  universe,  took  pity  upon  the  unfortunate  human 
beings,  and  restored  all  that  Khunu  had  destroyed. 

[207] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

Khunu's  anger,  however,  was  again  unchained,  and 
he  sent  a  deluge  and  plunged  the  earth  into  utter 
darkness. 

The  prayers  of  the  people  were  heeded  and  an- 
swered by  Inti,  the  sun-god,  who  rose  from  Titicaca, 
where  his  shrine  stood,  to  bathe  the  earth  with 
warmth  and  light.  His  efforts  were  ably  seconded  by 
Ticcihuiracocha,  who  came  among  mankind  to  help 
them,  performing  miracles  as  he  went,  smoothing 
down  the  mountains,  lifting  up  the  deep  abysses, 
causing  crystal  waters  to  gush  from  the  rocks  and, 
above  all,  instilling  into  the  human  heart  sentiments 
of  piety,  order,  and  industry.  Realising  that  gold 
and  silver  were  the  fount  of  all  corruption,  he  hid 
them  in  the  depths  of  the  most  inaccessible  regions 
or  in  the  flanks  of  lofty  mountains,  and  by  his  efforts 
and  those  of  Tunupa,  who  followed  him,  mankind 
was  restored  to  happiness  and  progress. 

Such  is  the  Aymaras'  crude  account  of  the  crea- 
tion— a  sort  of  geological  allegory,  Khunu  represent- 
ing the  Glacial  period,  Pachacamac  the  restoring 
forces  of  nature,  and  Ticcihuiracocha  the  changes  of 
the  Tertiary  period. 

We  spent  some  hours  wondering  at  the  mighty 

[208] 


-/ 


•-  '"-^^ 


.      3»»,..,^J:=^  .       .  tM ■  ;^  u ^'=y4i3i;tSv,  'ill'  "^^   — — - 


■Ay--_^-; 


<—   \y 


I 


:/ 


•k^ 


7- 


■■<-r> 


-.T\, 


Stone  Image,  Tiahuanaco 


PACIFIC   SHORES   FROM   PANAMA 

stones  fashioned  by  these  Indians;  at  their  well-cut 
angles,  their  hints  of  sculpture  and  ornament;  the 
nicety  of  their  joints;  the  size  of  their  megaliths, 
and  the  strange,  crude  carvings  in  the  museum.  One 
quadrangular  building  would  seem  by  its  extent  to 
have  been  a  royal  residence ;  there  is  a  flight  of  mono- 
lithic steps,  and  there  are  underground  passages, 
well-preserved  doorways,  and  queer  upright  stones 
that  resemble  Alaskan  totem  poles.  We  enjoyed, 
too,  a  walk  through  the  little  modern  town,  some  of 
whose  houses  are  built  of  these  same  pre-Inca  stones, 
and  whose  church  portal  is  flanked  by  curious  heads 
unearthed  in  the  ruins. 

The  ride  on  to  La  Paz  continues  across  a  bleak 
level  plateau.  Half-wild  cattle  and  groups  of  mules 
stampede  at  the  train's  approach.  Indian  women, 
dressed  in  crude  colours,  work  in  the  fields  of  quinoa, 
the  only  grain  that  grows  upon  these  wind-swept 
punas.  Aymaras  in  black  or  red  ponchos,  silent, 
aloof,  wait  at  the  stations. 

If  the  Quichua  Indian  is  sad,  the  Aymara  is  even 
sadder  still,  a  look  of  concentrated  melancholy  rest- 
ing ever  upon  his  features.  Unsocial,  gloomy,  whole 
families  live  together  with  scarcely,  it  would  seem, 

[  210  ] 


A   GLIMPSE  OF  BOLIVIA 

a  spoken  word  or  a  look  of  affection  exchanged  be- 
tween them. 

By  many  this  habitual  sadness  is  attributed  to 
their  excessive  use  of  coca.  And  certainly  no  Aymara 
is  ever  seen  without  his  chuspa  or  bag  that  contains 
this,  his  favourite  drug,  the  delight,  the  support,  and 
to  some  extent  the  necessity,  of  his  life.  I  found  it 
interesting  to  watch  an  Indian  prepare  to  chew. 
First  he  makes  himself  as  comfortable  as  possible, 
for  it  seems  that,  as  in  the  case  of  opium,  quiet  and 
repose  are  essential  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  the  drug. 
Then  he  takes  his  chuspa  between  his  knees,  and 
slowly,  one  by  one,  extracts  the  pale-green  leaves, 
rolling  them  carefully  to  form  a  ball,  which  he  chews 
until  it  ceases  to  emit  its  juice.  Three  or  four  times 
a  day  he  repeats  this  operation,  the  only  pleasure  of 
his  otherwise  monotonous  existence. 

The  effects  of  coca  are  varied.  Taken  to  excess  it 
is  a  terrible  vice.  Taken  in  moderation  it  imparts 
strange  powers  of  endurance.  For  example,  because 
of  its  anaesthetic  effect  upon  the  mucous  membrane 
of  the  stomach,  it  deadens  the  pangs  of  hunger  to 
such  an  extent  that  Indians  under  its  influence  have 
been  known  to  work  for  three  days  without  food  or 

[211] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

other  nourishment  of  any  kind.  It  seems  also  to 
lessen  the  fatigue  of  their  long  journeys  afoot  and 
give  them  strength  to  combat  the  effects  of  high 
altitudes. 

Though  known  to  Europeans  but  recently,  the 
properties  of  the  coca  leaf,  from  which  we  make 
cocaine,  have  long  been  appreciated  by  the  Andean 
Indians.  To  the  Incas  it  was  sacred,  mystic.  The 
priests  chewed  it  during  the  religious  ceremonies; 
it  was  burnt  like  incense  before  the  shrines  of  the 
gods,  and  handfuls  of  it  were  thrown  during  sacrifice. 
Its  leaves  w^ere  put  into  the  mouths  of  the  dead  to 
insure  their  favourable  reception  in  the  next  world, 
a  custom  that  persists  even  to-day.  And  in  the 
mines  the  Indian  workmen  still  throw  it  upon  the 
veins  of  ore,  believing  it  to  soften  the  metal  and 
render  it  easier  to  work. 

The  sun's  intensity  had  gathered  up  the  clouds 
once  more,  and  off  to  the  westward  long  curtains  of 
rain  obscured  the  distance.  At  Viacha  a  village 
fete  was  in  progress.  A  band  was  playing  over  by 
the  public-house,  the  church  was  dressed  with  flags 
and  green  boughs,  and  about  the  station  a  large 
crowd  was  assembled.    A  train,  bound  southward  for 

[212] 


A  GLIMPSE  OF   BOLIVIA 

Oruro  and  the  long  dreary  journey  down  to  Anto- 
fagasta,  the  only  other  means  of  communication  be- 
tween La  Paz  and  the  coast,  stood  on  the  track  next 
us.  Two  of  its  coaches  were  filled  with  soldiers  in 
charge  of  German  officers,  whose  Teuton  faces  and 
familiar  grey  uniforms  and  cloaks  looked  strangely 
out  of  place  in  these  mountain  solitudes. 

As  we  left  the  station  the  great  storm-clouds  that 
had  been  gathering  about  the  mountains  shifted  a 
little,  drifting  just  enough  to  disclose  the  icy  summits 
and  snowy  peaks  of  two  of  America's  greatest  moun- 
tains, Illimani  and  Huayna  Potosi.  So  sudden  was 
their  apparition,  so  amazing  the  grandeur  of  their 
structure,  so  extensive  their  wildernesses  of  snow,  that 
our  eyes  never  left  them  as  we  continued  to  approach 
them,  appearing  first  on  one  side  of  the  train,  then 
upon  the  other.  Their  slopes  below  the  snow-line 
were  of  an  intense  blackish  blue  that  formed  a  dense, 
rich  background  to  the  landscape,  and,  to  add  the 
necessary  touch  to  the  foreground,  at  one  point  two 
cholos  on  light-brown  mules  with  white  feet  came 
galloping  along  wrapped  in  magenta  ponchos  with 
yellow  borders — a  scheme  of  colour  daring  yet  stun- 
ning and  worthy  of  Zuloaga's  brush. 

[213] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

We  knew  that  now  we  must  be  approaching  La 
Paz,  yet  no  hint  of  a  city  lay  in  the  stony  fields  of 
this  level  plateau,  stretching  apparently  unbroken 
to  the  Royal  Cordillera  upon  the  one  hand  and  to 
an  unlimited  distance  upon  the  other.  Long  trains 
of  little  donkeys,  heavily  laden,  watched  by  their 
arrieros,  and  great  majadas  of  llamas,  each  with  its 
hundred-pound  load,  were  coming  from  every  direc- 
tion across  the  plains,  and  all  were  trending  toward 
a  certain  focal  point  ahead  of  us.  But  where  could 
the  city  be? 

The  train  whistled  as  it  rounded  a  long  curve,  and 
suddenly,  without  warning,  at  the  side  of  the  track 
a  great  chasm  opened,  coming  with  such  abruptness, 
so  unexpectedly,  that,  breathless,  we  grasped  some 
firm  object  for  support. 

At  its  far  extremity  Illimani,  hghtly  wreathed  with 
clouds,  raised  its  glorious  summit,  gleaming  in  all 
the  splendour  of  its  dazzling  snow-fields.  To  the  left 
Huayna  Potosi  spread  its  glittering  peaks  and,  cut 
into  the  flanks  of  these  two  giants  of  the  Andes, 
seamed  and  scarred  by  glacial  torrents,  deeply 
eroded,  mined  by  cataracts  and  rivers,  this  profound 
valley  has  been  excavated  by  the  primeval  forces  of 

[214] 


.  «3KSfc~- J;--as»''"Si^a». 


A  Llama  Train  on  flic  Ilolininn  JJighlands 


A   GLIMPSE  OF  BOLIVIA 

nature.  At  its  bottom,  far  below  us,  fifteen  hundred 
feet  or  more,  lay  the  city  of  Our  Lady  of  Peace,  La 
Paz,  from  whose  slate  roofs  and  towers  a  pale-blue 
vapour  seemed  to  emanate  as  if  it  were  offering  in- 
cense at  the  shrine  of  some  great  god.  And  fittingly, 
for  were  not  these  two  mountains,  Illimani  and 
Huayna  Potosi,  the  Indian's  Olympus,  the  abode  of 
his  chief  deities! 

Along  the  precipitous  walls  of  this  abyss,  white 
fillets  of  road  cut  zig-zags  and  loops,  along  which  we 
could  make  out  the  donkey-trains  and  llamas  with 
their  horsemen  and  drivers  crawling  slowly  down- 
ward like  strings  of  ants. 

Our  steam-driven  engine  was  now  changed  to  one 
run  by  electricity,  and  our  train  plunged  over  the 
brink.  The  upper  plains  vanished.  Steep  walls 
gradually  rose  about  us.  The  houses  of  the  city  at 
each  turn  lifted  themselves  nearer,  and  in  twenty  min- 
utes we  were  at  the  station  of  the  Bohvian  capital. 

Viewed  from  the  rim  at  the  Alto,  La  Paz  looks 
flat.  Upon  closer  acquaintance,  however,  it  proves 
to  be  one  of  the  hilliest  cities  that  you  can  find,  cling- 
ing as  it  does  to  the  slopes  upon  both  banks  of  the 
Chuquiapu,  the  river  or  rather  the  torrent  that  tears 

[  215  ] 


PACIFIC   SHORES   FROM   PANAMA 

through  the  bottom  of  the  valley.  Its  steep  streets 
plunge  down  one  hill  only  to  ascend  another,  and  in 
this  altitude  you  constantly  find  yourselves  pausing 
for  breath.  But  the  bright  colours  and  gay  archi- 
tecture of  the  houses,  the  rather  modern  aspect  of 
the  clean,  well-paved  thoroughfares,  make  the  city 
attractive  to  a  degree,  though  it  lacks  the  fine  monu- 
ments and  relics  of  the  past  that  one  finds  in  the 
Peruvian  cities. 

By  this  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  there  are  no 
old  palaces  or  churches.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  there 
are  important  buildings  several  centuries  old,  for  La 
Paz  was  founded  away  back  in  1549,  and  called  "The 
City  of  Peace,"  to  commemorate  the  reconciliation 
between  Almagro  and  Gonzalo  Pizarro.  How  any 
man  had  the  courage  to  select  this  site  is  quite  be- 
yond one's  powers  of  comprehension,  yet  the  wisdom 
of  the  choice  is  apparent,  protected  as  the  city  is  by 
the  walls  of  its  great  chasm  against  the  bitter  winds 
and  storms  that  sweep  this  mountain  world. 

The  principal  hotel,  installed  in  an  extensive  old 
palace  surrounding  two  fine  stone  courts,  overlooks 
one  corner  of  the  Plaza  Mayor  that  forms  the  heart 
of  the  city,  the  centre  of  its  activities.    It  is  planted 

[21G] 


^■-^ 


/r^ 


>-"■ 


ha  Paz  from  the  Alto 


-  ^'~ -* 

•••    :  '.1? 

1!  ,if^i^;S£-i^--^  i«<^'  '^ 


HIP,  rri  — mimim^i^jgau 


Streets  Plunge  Down  One  Bill  Only  to  Ascend  Anotlier 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

with  pretty  flower-beds  and  trees,  semi-tropical  in 
character,  and  decorated  with  a  central  monument. 
Fronting   upon   it   are   the   handsome   government 
buildings,  a  fresh  new  cafe  and  club,  the  unfinished 
cathedral,  begun  when  the  mines  of  Potosi  were  at 
the  height  of  their  activity,  and  the  President's  Pal- 
ace, where  a  group  of  soldiers  mount  guard  in  smart 
uniforms  and  bright  steel  helmets.    In  it,  too,  stand 
the  carriages,  open   vehicles,  each   drawn   by   four 
horses,  which  fact  will  give  you  some  idea  of  the 
steepness  of  the  streets.     Few  carts  are  ever  seen, 
but   pack-trains   pass   one   constantly.     Sometimes 
these  are  composed  of  big  mules,  laden  with  tin  and 
ore  from  the  great  deposits  of  Huayna  Potosi,  headed 
by  a  bell-horse  with  red  head-dress  and  gay  pom- 
pons, and  followed  by  the  arrieros,  well  mounted, 
watchful,  shouting  to  their  beasts,  now  in  terms  of 
endearment,  then  again  in  curses.     Next,  perhaps, 
will  come  a  flock  of  llamas,  loaded  with  ice  from  the 
Sierra,  the  cold  water  trickhng  over  their  shaggy 
coats,  or  a  long  string  of  sure-footed  donkeys  carry- 
ing wood  or  fresh  wheat  from  the  fields,  or  dried 
sheep  from  the  mountains,  or  loads  of  oil,  two  dozen 
bottles  on  either  side. 

[218] 


Old  Courtyard,  La  Paz 


£-- 


J 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

Sometimes,  even,  these  pack-trains  consist  of  men 
— also  true  beasts  of  burden — carrying  incredible 
loads.  I  saw,  for  instance,  a  family  moving,  every 
household  article — beds,  tables,  wardrobes,  lounges 
— carried  on  human  backs  up  the  steep  streets,  twelve 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea!  Even  pianos  are  thus 
moved,  slung  on  rawhide  ropes  between  six  bearers. 
And  again  one  asks  one's  self,  is  it  the  coca  that  gives 
them  the  heart  to  do  such  work? 

You  may  see  the  Indian  life  down  at  the  market, 
which,  oddly  enough,  reminded  us  in  several  ways 
of  the  souks  of  Tunis  with  its  pale-green  colonnades, 
through  which  glints  of  dazzling  sunshine  filtered; 
its  stalls  with  their  venders  squatting  cross-legged 
upon  them,  even  the  type  of  these  bejewelled  vend- 
ers themselves,  cholo  women  for  the  most  part. 

Of  all  the  types  of  La  Paz,  these  stout  cholitas  are 
the  most  characteristic.  Because  of  the  decrease  of 
the  Indian  race  and  the  apathy  of  the  Spanish  whites, 
who  constitute  only  one-eighth  of  the  entire  popu- 
lation of  the  country,  the  future  of  Bolivia  rests 
largely  upon  these  half-breeds,  who,  cunning  and 
shrewd  at  a  bargain,  have  amassed  much  wealth. 

Their  women  afford  the  evidence  of  this  pros- 

[220] 


,-^f^' 


<SiK-i 


Group  at  the  Market,  La  Paz 


A   GLIMPSE  OF  BOLIVIA 

perity.  Often  distinctly  handsome,  their  clothing  is 
spotless.  Upon  their  heads  they  wear  quaint  little 
felt  hats  stiffened  and  chalked  as  white  as  snow. 
Their  dress,  usually  of  some  rich  material,  is  covered, 
when  on  the  street,  by  a  great  shawl  whose  long 
silken  fringes  sweep  about  their  ankles,  and  whose 
folds  are  held  in  place  by  a  handsome  pin  of  gold, 
usually  set  with  baroque  pearls  or  emeralds,  from 
which  dangles  a  jointed  fish,  also  of  gold,  with  pearls 
or  emeralds  for  eyes.  Their  long  ear-rings  match 
this  pin  and  are  also  of  gold  and  precious  stones. 

When  they  bend  over  to  bargain  with  the  seated 
women,  they  disclose  their  canary-coloured,  high- 
heeled  shoes,  ornamented  with  tassels,  and  a  few 
inches  of  tight-drawn  creamy  stocking  veiled  by  the 
well-starched  laces  of  innumerable  petticoats  that 
give  body  to  their  voluminous  skirts. 

Petticoats  seem  to  be  the  great  luxury  of  the  native 
women  of  all  classes.  Even  the  poor  Indians  wear 
a  dozen.  When  a  new  skirt  is  needed  it  is  added  on 
the  outside,  those  underneath  remaining  just  as 
before.  As  they  choose  only  the  brightest  colours, 
the  effect  of  these  multi-coloured  garments  worn  one 
above  the  other  is  often  startling  indeed. 

[221] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

On  Sunday  mornings  the  market  spills  over  into 
all  the  adjoining  streets,  along  whose  curbstones  the 
Indian  women  squat  with  their  wares  spread  out 
upon  the  ground  before  them.  And  what  a  debauch 
of  colour  they  make,  brilliant  as  any  tulip-beds  in 
Holland!  Red,  green,  magenta,  purple,  blue,  crim- 
son— all  the  colours  of  a  post-impressionist — their 
balloon-like  skirts  go  ambling  along.  No  German 
aniline  dye  is  too  strong  for  them. 

And  through  this  gaudy  throng  the  creamy  spots 
of  the  cholo  women  and  the  black  manias  of  the 
Spanish  ladies,  who  understand  the  distinction  of 
their  sombre  attire,  strike  the  necessary  accents. 

Down  by  San  Francisco — a  handsome  church  of 
the  early  eighteenth  century,  with  a  remarkable  nave 
and  vaulting — is  another  market  where  the  Indians 
buy  their  clothes  and  the  homespun  cloths  for  the 
bags  and  saddle-blankets  of  their  animals.  Little 
stalls,  where  women  sell  laces  and  bits  of  jewelry 
and  sandals  worked  with  velvet  applique,  stand 
wedged  between  the  buttresses  of  the  church,  and 
along  the  Calle  del  Mercado  near  by  are  the  shops, 
gay  with  colour,  where  you  may  purchase  bright 
ponchos  and  pointed  caps  knitted  in  intricate  de- 

[222] 


A   GLIMPSE   OF  BOLIVIA 

signs.  In  them,  too,  you  may  often  see  men  from 
the  Yungas,  the  rich  tropical  valley  that  lies  below 
La  Paz,  and  the  principal  seat  of  its  coca  cultivation 
— youths  whose  long  hair,  tied  in  queues,  falls  about 
their  shoulders,  and  whose  gay-striped  ponchos  con- 
ceal all  else  but  their  sturdy,  bronzed  legs  bared  to 
the  knees. 

If  you  wish  to  see  the  Spanish  life  you  must  go, 
some  afternoon,  across  the  bridge  to  the  Alameda, 
where  the  band  plays  two  or  three  times  each  week, 
and  where  the  people  promenade  under  the  eucalypti 
along  a  broad  avenue  bordered  by  the  new  villas 
owned  by  the  wealthier  citizens  of  La  Paz  and  by 
the  members  of  the  diplomatic  corps.  To  judge 
from  one  or  two  we  visited,  these  homes  possess 
every  modern  comfort,  and  judging  from  the  con- 
versation that  we  heard  within  them,  their  residents 
indulge  in  most  of  the  social  pastimes  that  we  enjoy 
^teas,  theatre  parties,  riding  clubs,  and  tennis  clubs, 
though  the  high  altitude  is  rather  against  all  out- 
door sports. 

As  soon  as  you  leave  the  streets  of  the  city,  in  any 
direction,  you  are  at  once  confronted  with  the  savage 
aspect  of  the  country  that  surrounds  it.    Forming  the 

[223] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

continuation  of  each  steep  thoroughfare,  as  it  were, 
rise  the  cHffs  and  pinnacles,  coloured  by  mineral  ores, 

of  this  forbidding  valley. 

Having  viewed  it  from 
above  at  the  Alto,  it  is  well 
to  see  it  from  below  by 
walking  down  to  Obrajes, 
where  the  Chuquiapu  thun- 
ders along  in  its  mad  run 
to  the  sea,  mining  its  way 
deeper  and  ever  deeper  into 
its  stony  bed.  There  is  a 
well-founded  theory,  I  be- 
lieve, that  this  valley  of  La 
Paz  was  at  one  time  the  bed 
of  the  great  river  that  drained 
Titicaca,  whose  only  outlet 
nowadays  is  the  Desagua- 
dero,  that  leaves  the  lake 
'  near  Guaqui,  to  sink  finally 
into  Oruro's  salty  plains. 
And  certainly  immense  vol- 
umes of  water  must  have  poured  down  these  gullies, 
and  still  do  for  that  matter,  after  the  frequent  and 

angry  rains. 

[224] 


An  Aymara  Musician 


'•*»» 


r7^**v**-"**  =?<-^-„>, 


•  «.i^»-^        ffr^    '■t?**^ 


In  the  Obrajes  Valley 


A  GLIMPSE   OF  BOLIVIA 

As  you  descend,  the  floral  life  that  has  been  so 
entirely  absent  upon  the  high  plateaus  begins  to 
bloom  again.  Purple  lupin  and  black-eyed  susans, 
wild  roses  and  calceolaria,  with  their  beautiful  slip- 
per-shaped flowers,  mingle  with  masses  of  broom 
and  geranium,  while  the  heads  of  tall  pampas  grasses 
nod  along  the  river-bank.  Pepper-trees  and  willows 
shade  the  occasional  dwellings. 

At  the  roadside  an  Indian  sits  making  the  pas- 
toral reed-pipes  that  all  the  natives  play,  and  the 
syrinx,  also  of  reeds,  such  as  the  great  god  Pan  played 
in  Arcadia.  Llamas  and  donkey-trains,  climbing  to 
the  capital,  stumble  up  the  rocky  road.  High  above 
hangs  the  Capilla,  a  chapel,  as  its  name  implies,  to 
•  which  we  climbed  another  afternoon  to  enjoy  the 
wonderful  panorama  from  a  belvedere  near  by,  that 
overhangs  a  chaos  of  valleys  and  mountains,  chain 
upon  chain,  culminating  in  lUimani's  dazzling  peak 
that  rears  its  head  21,000  feet  above  the  sea. 

Finally,  in  our  descent,  w^e  reached  the  public 
square  at  Obrajes,  and  were  just  admiring  the  gardens 
that  seemed  quite  tropical  in  their  exuberance  after 
the  rugged  plants  of  the  upper  plains,  when  a  ter- 
rific hail-storm  swept  upon  the  valley — thunder, 
lightning,  and  torrents  of  rushing  water. 

[225] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

In  a  few  moments  all  the  country  was  awash.  We 
took  refuge  in  an  inn  close  by,  whence  we  telephoned 
to  a  friend  in  the  city  to  send  down  a  cab.  A  long 
wait,  during  which  we  whiled  away  the  time  by 
watching  the  life  of  this  wayside  tavern,  finally 
brought  us  the  usual  four-horse  vehicle,  whose 
leather  top  was  filled  with  hail-stones  as  big  as  birds' 
eggs. 

The  storm  had  abated,  however,  as  quickly  as  it 
had  begun,  and  as  we  climbed  upward  in  the  waning 
light  the  clouds  lifted;  the  crags  and  castellated  pin- 
nacles grew  rosy;  a  shepherd's  lonely  flute,  as  in 
Beethoven's  "Pastorale,"  lifted  the  plaintive  voice 
of  its  yaravi;  the  birds  resumed  their  songs,  and  all 
nature  seemed  to  give  thanks  for  its  deliverance  from 
the  storm. 


[226] 


THE  RETURN  TO  PANAMA 


THE  RETURN  TO  PANAMA 

WE  left  La  Paz  in  the  early  afternoon,  and 
before  sundown  were  aboard  the  Inca 
upon  the  shores  of  Titicaca.  The  night 
was  perfect.  I  opened  the  window  and  its  curtains, 
so  that  if  I  awoke  I  could  again  behold  the  wonder- 
ful stars  of  these  high  altitudes. 

At  the  first  hint  of  dawn,  I  was  on  deck  awaiting 
the  sunrise.  The  sky  to  the  east  was  burnished 
silver,  then  turned  to  gold,  as  the  sun  showed  its 
gleaming  face  above  the  mountains.  Once  in  a 
while  Sorata's  mighty  peak  appeared  between  the 
islands. 

The  shore  was  quite  close  to  the  westward  and, 
as  the  sun  rose,  it  gilded  the  bare  hills  that  form  a 
great  saucer  about  Puno  until  they  glowed  like 
copper.     Reed  balsas  lay  in  the  shadow  among  the 

[229] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 


rushes,  while  their  fishermen  prepared  for  the  morn- 
ing's catch. 

As  we  came  up  to  the  dock  at  about  six  o'clock,  I 


The  Plaza,  Puno 


spied  our  now  familiar  private  car,  the  same  that  had 
been  our  home  during  all  our  journey  to  Cuzco,  still 
awaiting  us,  though  we  had  been  absent  almost  two 
weeks.  Faithful  Prudenzio  was  standing  upon  the 
step,  and  through  the  windows  of  the  observation 

[230] 


THE  RETURN  TO  PANAMA 

end  I  could  see  Juan  putting  the  last  touches  to  the 
breakfast-table,  adorned  with  fresh  roses  and  car- 
nations. It  was  like  coming  home  again  to  find  our 
luggage  and  our  various  purchases  in  the  state- 
rooms, and  to  be  welcomed  by  these  two  good  ser- 
vants. 

Shortly  after  we  were  speeding  along  toward  the 
coast. 

The  mountains  that,  upon  our  ascent,  had  veiled 
their  summits  in  the  clouds,  now  shone  resplendent 
in  the  clear  morning  air.  Oh,  that  glorious  journey 
down,  with  the  Andean  giants  about  us  dominated 
by  the  snow-fields  of  Coropuna!  The  icy  peaks  of 
Chachani  and  Misti's  exquisite  silhouette  greeted  us 
later,  and  then  the  green  valley  of  the  Chili  opened 
below. 

We  stopped  again  for  a  few  days  in  Arequipa,  took 
the  fast  boat  at  Mollendo,  and  twenty-four  hours 
later  were  landing  at  Callao  en  route  for  Lima. 
Here  we  lingered  for  a  week,  refreshing  the  memories 
of  our  first  visit,  and  seeing  the  friends  that  had  been 
so  kind  to  us. 

Then  followed  six  days  of  quiet  aboard  the  good 
ship  Guatemala — six  days  of  lazy  dreams,  watching 

[231] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

the  changing  colours  of  land  and  sea;  the  lanchas 
loading  and  unloading  at  the  different  ports;  the 
queer  birds  and  the  amphibia  about  the  islands — 
dreaming,  too,  of  the  treasure-ships  of  the  olden  days 
whose  tracks  we  were  now  following,  and  of  Sir 
Francis  Drake,  whose  long  cruise  from  Magellan 
Straits  took  him  far  northward  to  the  California 
coast,  our  present  destination. 

What  a  sea  for  the  yachtsmen,  this  calm  blue 
Pacific,  that,  in  these  equatorial  latitudes,  so  well 
deserves  its  name! 

Then  one  morning  the  Pearl  Islands  rose  in  the 
northeast,  and  an  hour  or  two  later  we  were  off  the 
quarantine  station  at  Panama. 


[232] 


FROM  THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE 
GOLDEN  GATE 


FROM  THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE 
GOLDEN  GATE 


IN  CENTRAL  AMERICAN  WATERS 

THE  sun  was  setting  behind  the  palm-fringed 
hills.  The  fairway  of  the  canal,  reflecting 
the  rosy  tints  of  the  sky,  stretched  placid 
and  opalescent  off  into  the  Gulf  of  Panama.  The 
noisy  cranes  had  ceased  their  creaking;  the  pas- 
sengers were  all  aboard.  Slowly  we  backed  from 
Balboa's  dock,  swung  about,  and  took  our  course 
down  the  bay.  As  we  passed  Taboga  Island  the 
short  twilight  of  the  tropics  deepened,  and  before  we 
knew  it  the  shades  of  night  had  shut  us  in. 

So  here  we  were  well  started  upon  our  twenty- 
three  days'  voyage  to  San  Francisco.    Now  twenty- 

[235] 


PACIFIC   SHORES   FROM  PANAMA 

three  days  at  sea  at  best  is  not  a  pleasant  prospect, 
twenty-three  days  of  *' wet-ploughing,"  with  noth- 
ing to  vary  the  tedium  of  the  long,  inactive  hours; 
twenty-three  days  perhaps  of  wind  and  rain  and 
heavy  weather.  But  upon  this  occasion  no  thoughts 
like  these  dismayed  us,  for  were  we  not  to  put  into 
about  a  dozen  different  ports,  to  enjoy  long  shore 
excursions,  and  perhaps,  best  of  all,  to  be  sure  of  a 
calm  sea  with  a  bright  sky,  for  the  beginning  of  the 
rainy  season  was  still  a  month  away? 

We  started  upon  a  Saturday  night.  All  day  Sun- 
day we  were  in  the  gulf  coasting  by  low,  wooded 
shores  to  Cape  Mala,  and  that  evening  the  sun  set 
apparently  upon  the  wrong  side  of  the  ship,  owing 
to  our  continued  southerly  course. 

On  Monday  we  passed  the  Island  of  Monterosa 
lifting  high  its  wooded  peak;  then  the  Ladrones,  but 
not  those  so  important  in  the  old  navigation  of  the 
Pacific,  the  half-way  house  so  to  speak  between 
Mexico  and  the  Orient;  then  at  Burica  Point  we  had 
our  first  glimpse  of  the  Golfo  Dulce. 

In  the  Pacific  south  of  Panama  we  had  thought 
the  sea  was  calm,  for  its  surface  was  only  now  and 
then  slightly  ruffled  by  the  cool  breeze  that  blows  up 

[236] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

the  coast.  But  here  in  these  Central  American  lati- 
tudes it  lay  motionless,  oily,  lazy,  its  only  show  of 
life  being  the  long  heaves  that  slowly  passed  over 
it  as  if  to  mark  its  breathing.  I  watched  a  sailor  take 
the  temperature  of  the  water,  and  his  thermometer 
registered  eighty  degrees. 

Between  Matapalo  Head  and  Sal  si  Puedes  Point 
the  coast  rose  to  ranges  perhaps  two  thousand  feet 
in  height.  Deep  fringes  of  cocoanut-palms  skirted 
the  shore,  backed  by  lovely  hills  covered  with  dense 
wood,  among  whose  trees,  the  captain  assured  us, 
fine  mahogany,  rosewood,  and  cedars  are  still  to  be 
found  in  large  quantities.  Toward  sundown  we 
sighted  Cano  Island,  a  veritable  Robinson  Crusoe's 
isle,  quite  alone  upon  the  deep,  yet  wooded  and  ap- 
parently provided  with  all  the  necessities  of  human 
existence. 

All  day  Tuesday  we  were  off  the  coast  of  Nica- 
ragua, in  a  fine  clipping  breeze,  and  at  night  crossed 
the  mouth  of  the  Bay  of  Fonseca,  important  commer- 
cially, as  Honduras,  Nicaragua,  and  Salvador  all 
have  frontages  upon  it. 

On  Wednesday  morning  the  land  was  again  very 
near,  so  close  indeed  that  we  could  plainly  see  the 

[237] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

long  sandy  beaches,  the  rich  foliage  of  the  hills,  and 
the  lazy  breakers  of  the  Pacific  swell  rolling  in  the 
logs  and  driftwood.    These  were  the  coves  that  Gil 


Watching  the  Lanchas 

Gonzales  explored,  as  virgin  to-day  as  when  he,  the 
first  white  man  to  behold  these 

"Seas  unsailed  and  shores  unhailed," 

saw  them  from  the  deck  of  his  high-pooped  galleon. 
Suddenly,  as  we  watched,  among  the  inland  mists 
that  rose  in  the  warm,  moist  air,  a  blue  silhouette  ap- 
peared, so  faint  that  we  could  scarcely  distinguish  its 

[238] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

outline,  so  high  that  we  could  hardly  beheve  our  eyes 
— the  conical  peak  of  Vicente  rising  more  than  seven 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  one  of  the  long  suc- 
cessions of  volcanoes  that  bristle  along  this  Central 
American  sea.  Soon  we  passed  the  mouth  of  the  Rio 
Jiboa,  that  empties  into  Lake  Ilo  Pango;  then  the 
long  sierra  that  separates  San  Salvador  from  the 
coast  came  into  view. 

Scarcely  a  sign  of  human  life  had  enlivened  these 
three  days'  travel,  but  now  ahead  a  mole  protruded 
into  the  sea  with  a  white  warehouse  upon  its  end. 
This  was  all  that  at  first  sight  marked  La  Libertad, 
at  one  time  Salvador's  main  port,  but  now,  since  the 
opening  of  the  railroad  at  Acajutla,  somewhat  aban- 
doned. We  went  ashore,  however,  in  the  agent's 
boat,  were  hoisted  in  a  chair  from  it  to  the  dock,  and 
spent  the  afternoon  wandering  about  the  village, 
drinking  cocoanut  milk  and  nibbling  tamarinds  in  a 
shop;  seeing  the  old  church,  a  wofully  poor  affair; 
and  enjoying  the  tropical  trees  and  plants.  We  re- 
turned to  the  ship  in  a  big  lighter  laden  with  coffee, 
were  duly  hoisted  aboard  again  in  a  sort  of  car  like 
those  used  in  roller-coasters,  and  soon  were  off  to 
sea  again. 

[239] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

Not  for  very  long,  however,  for  upon  the  following 
morning  we  cast  anchor  off  Acajutla.  As  upon  the 
west  coast  of  South  America,  these  Pacific  ports  are, 
with  one  or  two  exceptions,  merely  open  roadsteads 


^fe^. 


V  -t  T.  .,.-».  .  .-(rv 


The  Mole,  La  Libertad 

where  the  steamers  lie  within  a  mile  or  so  of  shore. 
Passengers,  baggage,  and  freight  alike  are  transferred 
in  lighters,  the  experiences  attending  embarkation 
and  debarkation  being  sometimes  quite  thrilling. 
A  number  of  passengers  were  leaving  our  steamer 

[  240  ]  ■ 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

at  Acajutla,  among  them  the  family  of  a  president  of 
Ecuador  who  had  just  been  ruthlessly  murdered  in  a 
revolution,  and  whose  relatives  were  seeking  asylum 
in  Salvador.  These  people,  as  well  as  the  secretary 
of  the  American  legation  at  San  Salvador,  who  was 
also  in  their  party,  proposed  that  we  should  accom- 
pany them  inland  as  far  as  Sonsonate,  where  they 
were  to  spend  the  night,  proceeding  to  San  Salvador 
upon  the  morrow.  Our  captain  assured  us  that  we 
could  do  this,  provided  we  returned  by  the  early 
train  next  morning. 

So  after  lunch,  four  at  a  time,  the  whole  party — 
stout  Spanish  ladies  all  in  deepest  black,  Indian 
servants,  attentive  and  watchful,  carrying  band- 
boxes, handbags,  parrots,  and  lap-dogs,  as  well  as 
ourselves — all  were  lowered  into  a  lighter  and  hoisted 
ashore  again  at  the  bodega  perched  on  the  end  of  the 
mole.  We  found  we  had  time  before  the  train's  de- 
parture to  look  about  the  village  and  its  great  coffee 
warehouses.  Then  we  all  enjoyed  refreshing  bever- 
ages upon  the  balcony  of  the  port-agent's  house 
overlooking  the  palm-sheltered  village,  with  its  bam- 
boo huts  and  its  women  peddling  fruits,  frijoles,  and 
starchy -looking  puddings. 

[241] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

A  little  train  finally  came  crawling  in,  and  soon  we 
were  off  upon  our  trip  inland.  At  first  we  passed 
through  a  rich  grazing  country.  The  name  of  the 
second  station,  Moisant,  recalled  the  intrepid  aviator 
who  was  the  first  to  fly  the  English  Channel.  And 
rightly,  for  here  is  situated  the  great  beneficio,  or 
plantation,  operated  by  his  brother,  and  from  which 
he  too  went  forth  to  lead  his  adventurous  career. 
Adventurous,  indeed,  is  the  word,  for  all  the  country 
remembers  him  as  a  dare-devil,  ever  in  hot  water, 
manning  a  Catling  gun  in  the  square  at  Sonsonate, 
holding  it  alone  against  the  revolutionists,  or  swim- 
ming to  sea  to  plant  the  Stars  and  Stripes  upon  a 
French  ship  that  had  gone  ashore  near  Acajutla,  thus 
bringing  our  government  into  international  compli- 
cations. 

He  was  finally  exiled  from  Salvador,  but  returned 
in  disguise,  going  directly  to  see  the  President.  When 
he  was  admitted,  he  tore  off  his  false  beard  and  said: 
*'Well,  here  I  am  back  again;  what  are  you  going  to 
do  with  me?"  To  which  the  President,  quite  taken 
aback  and  lost  in  admiration  at  his  daring,  replied: 
"  Why,  nothing  at  all,  Tom.   Come  and  have  a  drink." 

The  world  knows  of  his  career  as  an  aviator — his 

[242] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

spectacular  apparition  from  nowhere,  his  heroic 
crossing  of  the  Channel  to  the  amazement  and  dis- 
comfiture of  England,  and  of  his  sad,  untimely  death. 
This,  his  old  home,  an  American-looking  house,  peace- 
ful, comfortable,  always  open  to  the  breeze,  is  set 
under  waving  cocoanut-palms  in  the  midst  of  fields 
of  sugar-cane. 

The  foliage  hereabout  was  particularly  handsome. 
Palms  and  conicaste,  with  their  soaring  trunks  and 
umbrella-like  burst  of  leafage  at  the  top,  mingled  with 
superb  madre  de  cacao  giants  of  the  forest  both  in 
height  and  spread,  so  called  because  the  cocoa  plant 
is  sheltered  from  the  ardent  sun  beneath  their  spread- 
ing branches,  as  broad  as  those  of  the  greatest  oaks. 
Cattle  grazed  in  the  lowlands  and  the  corn  was  ripen- 
ing to  perfection,  irrigated  by  little  ditches. 

In  less  than  an  hour  we  reached  Sonsonate.  The 
quaint  hotel,  primitive  but  decent,  called  the  Blanco 
y  Negro,  is  but  a  step  from  the  station.  They 
showed  us  a  large  room  opening  directly  upon  the 
street  by  means  of  a  shuttered  door,  and  upon  the 
patio  by  a  similar  entrance.  There  were  no  windows, 
but  we  slept  in  the  draught  between  the  doors.  The 
spacious  dining-room  in  the  court  was  also  open  on 

[  243  ] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

every  hand  to  the  winds  of  heaven  by  reason  of  large 
unglazed  air-spaces  that  in  rainy  weather  could  be 
closed  by  movable  shutters.  Upon  each  table, 
among  the  usual  articles,  stood  an  olive-oil  bottle, 
filled  with  a  thick,  black  mixture,  which,  on  closer 
acquaintance,  proved  to  be  the  richest  extract  of 
coffee,  a  few  drops  of  which  at  breakfast  in  a  cup  of 
milk  made  strong  caje  au  lait. 

Sonsonate  has  but  one  street  of  importance.  Only 
a  few  paces  from  the  hotel  it  crosses  a  high  bridge 
that  commands  a  fine  view  up  and  down  a  deep 
gorge,  luxuriantly  tropical,  where  the  women  stand 
knee-deep  in  the  pools  washing  their  vari-coloured 
garments,  and  of  the  handsome  blue  distant  moun- 
tains that  shut  off  the  town  to  the  eastward. 

Upon  this  bridge  there  is  always  a  strange  con- 
course of  people  and  animals:  women,  straight  and 
erect,  balancing  baskets  of  fruit,  ollas  of  water,  and 
brown  earthen  bowls  of  frijoles  upon  their  heads; 
ox-carts  rumbling  along  upon  their  solid  wooden 
wheels  and  covered  with  great  dried  cowhides,  and 
once  in  a  while  a  little  tram-car,  mule-drawn,  that 
seems  to  meander  off  to  nowhere  at  all.  The  pave- 
ment of  the  street  rises  and  falls  in  a  thousand  ruts 

[244] 


'^■t.r'i,^,.Tr« 


Sonsonate 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

and  gullies,  heaving  itself  as  if  a  long  series  of  earth- 
quakes had  utterly  shattered  its  cobbled  surfaces. 

The  little  shops  are  kept  for  the  most  part  by 
Chinamen  or  Armenians,  and  one  of  the  latter,  when 
I  asked  for  souvenir  postal  cards  to  send  to  friends, 
could  only  produce  views  of  Jerusalem!  In  the 
Chinese  shops  you  can  find  the  pretty  silken  scarfs 
that  the  women  wear,  made  in  China  especially  for  this 
Central  American  trade,  and  most  becoming  they  are, 
framing  the  dark  oval  faces  in  their  soft  silky  folds. 

It  was  at  vespers  that,  toward  twilight  that  after- 
noon, we  saw  them  to  their  best  advantage.  The 
church  interior,  spacious  and  airy,  is  painted  pink 
and  pale  water-green,  and  against  this  background, 
like  bouquets  of  soft  flowers,  nodded  these  scarf- 
covered  heads,  coral  and  violet,  lavender  and  pale- 
blue,  heliotrope  and  white.  As  night  came  on,  the 
women  trooped  away  out  under  the  golden  bamboo 
arch  that  shades  the  transept  door  and  through  the 
plaza,  stopping  perhaps  to  buy  some  bits  of  food 
from  the  venders  who  squatted  on  the  curbstones 
before  the  great  columns  of  the  portico,  their  earthen 
bowls  cooking  with  a  spluttering  of  oil  over  open 
fires  kindled  in  the  gutter. 

[245] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

There  was  a  concert  in  the  plaza  that  evening.  A 
military  band  discoursed  excellent  music  from  the 
band-stand,  while  under  the  lovely  flowering  trees 
that  stained  the  pavement  with  their  falling  blooms, 
the  townspeople  sat  upon  blue  benches  or  walked 
around  the  leafy  avenues.  Girls,  four  abreast,  arm 
in  arm,  pale  as  moonflowers,  with  their  hair,  silky 
and  well  cared  for,  hanging  loosely  down  their  backs, 
swished  their  starched  skirts  as  they  passed;  negro 
women,  black  as  night,  in  scarlet  dresses  with  long 
golden  ear-rings  dangling  about  their  necks,  walked 
quietly  behind  their  mistresses;  the  blue  Prefec- 
tura  gleamed  ghostly  in  the  moonlight,  and  even  the 
cold,  white,  classic  church,  whose  great  columns  swell 
like  those  of  Egypt  into  lotus-flower  capitals,  took  on 
the  warmth  and  glamour  of  this  southern  night, 
making  a  picture  like  the  scenic  setting  of  some  grand 
opera. 


[246] 


n 

GUATEMALA  AND   ITS   CAPITAL 

WE  awoke  at  dawn,  took  the  early  train, 
and  by  ten  o'clock  were  once  more 
aboard  the  ship.  That  night  we  crossed 
the  boundary  to  Guatemala  and  anchored  in  the 
early  morning  at  its  chief  Pacific  seaport,  San  Jose. 
Our  steamer  carried  a  consignment  of  steel  rails 
destined  for  a  link  in  the  Pan-American  Railway. 
These  were  to  be  put  off  at  Champerico,  the  next 
port,  a  lengthy  and  tedious  operation  that,  in  the 
ground  swell,  would  usually  require  about  two  days. 
So  we  planned  to  utilise  this  time  in  making  a  trip 
up  to  Guatemala  City. 

This  was  a  Saturday,  and  according  to  all  calcu- 
lations our  steamer  could  not  leave  Champerico 
before  the  following  Tuesday  morning  at  the  earliest. 
In  order  to  facilitate  our  departure  our  captain,  who 

[247] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

was  kindness  and  thoughtfulness  itself  during  all 
this  cruise,  sent  us  quickly  ashore  in  his  gig.  We 
found  the  Pacific  Mail  agent  upon  the  dock,  and  he 
too  assured  us,  after  some  demur,  that  the  trip,  as 
we  planned  it,  was  feasible.  So  presently  we  were 
seated  in  the  train  again  ascending  the  hills  toward 
the  interior  of  Guatemala.  The  air  was  moist  and 
big  vaporous  clouds  hung  about  the  distant  moun- 
tains. The  country  through  which  we  passed  at 
first  resembled  the  ride  to  Sonsonate,  being  chiefly 
through  grazing-lands  interspersed  at  times  with 
large  plantations  of  sugar-cane  or  bananas.  Natives 
in  gay  costume  leaned  from  the  doorways  of  palm- 
leaf  huts. 

Beyond  Escuintla  the  air  grew  cooler;  the  clouds 
lifted  to  some  extent  and  disclosed  richly  w^ooded 
hillsides,  well-tilled  fields,  and  beneficios  with  pink, 
box-like  houses  surrounded  by  long  white  arcades. 
Clear  little  streams  fringed  with  willows  ran  merrily 
down  to  the  sea.  The  views  toward  the  coast  were 
lovely  as  the  train  rounded  curve  after  curve,  always 
mounting  to  cooler  heights.  But  the  great  volcano, 
Agua,  stubbornly  refused  to  show  itself  on  this  our 
upward  journey. 

[248] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

At  the  stations  the  Indian  women  met  the  train  to 
peddle  their  fruits:    mangoes  and  pineapples,  chiri- 


Ploughing  on  Agua 


moyas,  alligator  pears,  and  loquats.  And  a  gaj'  pic- 
ture they  made  with  their  thick  black  hair  bound 
tight  about  their  heads  to  form  braided  crowns, 
plaited  with  broad  ribbons  of  lilac  and  green.    Their 

[249] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

strong  yet  delicately  moulded  arms  emerged  from 
white  chemisettes,  enriched  with  embroidery,  and  so 
short  that  when  they  raised  their  hands  to  steady  the 
baskets  upon  their  heads,  the  bare  bronze  skin  of 
their  lithe,  graceful  bodies  was  revealed  to  the  waist- 
line. For  skirts  they  only  wear  hand-woven  cloths, 
gay  with  patterns,  wrapped  closely  round  their  hips 
— so  tightly,  indeed,  that  every  movement  of  their 
shapely  limbs  is  disclosed  as  they  walk  along. 

The  gorges  grew  deeper  as  we  ascended,  and  in 
their  glens,  half  hidden  in  a  tangle  of  creepers,  vines, 
and  flowering  yucca,  we  could  see  great  tree-ferns 
spreading  their  tops  like  giant  umbrellas.  The  vol- 
canic mountains  took  on  strange  shapes,  and  pres- 
ently we  found  ourselves  upon  the  reedy  banks  of 
the  broad  lake,  Amatitlan,  along  which  the  train 
now  ran  for  many  miles,  crossing  it  at  one  point  upon 
a  long  low  bridge.  We  were  by  this  time  nearly  four 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  and  the  air  was  de- 
liciously  cool  and  refreshing  after  the  humid  atmos- 
phere of  the  coast. 

At  Moran,  whose  ruined  church  by  the  track 
stood  a  silent  witness  to  the  devastation  of  an  earth- 
quake, we  knew  we  were  approaching  the  capital, 

[250] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

for  women  hurried  along  toward  the  city  with  their 
market  produce  balanced  upon  their  heads  and 
gaudy  new  villas  came  into  view  from  time  to  time. 
We  crossed  the  viaduct  that  spans  the  broad  Re- 
forma,  and  entered  the  station. 

Upon  emerging  the  first  object  that  confronts  you 
is  the  bull-ring  made  of  adobe,  washed  with  their 
favourite  pale-blue  water-colour.  Opposite  it,  con- 
victs were  at  work  grading  a  hill  under  the  surveil- 
lance of  some  slovenly,  barefoot  soldiers.  Beyond  we 
passed  a  pilgrim  church  situated  at  the  head  of  a 
great  flight  of  steps,  at  whose  base  cows  were  being 
milked,  while  the  crenellated  walls  of  an  old  fortress 
rose  up  behind,  blue  and  unreal  against  the  sky-line 
like  some  piece  of  stage  scenery. 

The  streets  down  which  we  drove  were  wide  and 
straight  and  paved  with  square  blocks  of  stone  like 
the  old  Roman  thoroughfares;  the  houses  but  one 
story  in  height  for  the  most  part;  the  churches 
baroque,  pretentious,  and  uninteresting. 

When  I  asked  the  cabman  upon  reaching  the  hotel 
how  much  I  owed  him,  he  calmly  replied:  "Eighteen 
dollars."  I  fairly  gasped,  feeling  that  I  was  being 
robbed.     Then   I  remembered  that  in   Guatemala 

[251] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

eighteen  dollars  of  their  money  equals  just  one 
American  dollar!  You  can  imagine  the  condition 
of  one's  pockets  in  a  country  with  such  a  currency — 
constantly  cluttered  with  rolls  of  dirty  paper  pesos, 
tattered  and  often  worn  to  shreds.  You  buy  a  few 
postage  stamps  and  you  pay  eight  dollars  for  them; 
your  simple  dinner  amounts  to  forty  dollars,  your 
room  to  fifty  dollars  a  day.  Yet  living  in  Gua- 
temala is  cheap — when  you  make  due  allowance  for 
exchange. 

Under  the  old  Spanish  dominion,  all  that  we  now 
call  Central  America,  that  is  from  the  Isthmus  of 
Tehuantepec  to  Panama,  was  known  as  the  Captain- 
Generalcy,  or  Kingdom  of  Guatemala.  Cortez,  after 
his  conquest  of  Mexico,  sent  his  daring  lieutenant, 
Don  Pedro  de  Alvarado,  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
figures  of  that  turbulent  epoch,  to  subjugate  this 
country,  and  his  name  has  become  linked  with  it  like 
that  of  Cortez  with  Mexico  and  Pizarro  with  Peru. 
He  found  the  country  peopled  with  fairly  civilised 
natives,  having  their  industries  and  arts,  their  pic- 
ture-writings and  a  primitive  language  of  symbols. 
Like  the  Aztecs  of  Mexico  and  the  Incas  of  Peru, 
they  dwelt  upon  the  cool  ethereal  heights  of  the 

[252] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

tierra  templada,  where  they  first  woke  to  civilisation 
under  the  stimulus  of  the  exhilarating  air  raised  high 
above  the  miasmas  of  the  coast — the  torrid  tierra 
caliente. 

When  Alvarado  had  brought  these  natives  to  sub- 
mission, he  planned  to  make  his  capital  the  finest  in 
the  new  world.  To  attain  this  end,  he  brought  artisans 
from  Spain,  and  under  their  guidance,  the  Mayas, 
who  had  erected  the  temples  of  Yucatan  and  Hon- 
duras, now  built  his  viceregal  palace,  the  great  cathe- 
dral where  his  bones  afterward  reposed,  and  the  other 
edifices  of  his  capital,  Antigua,  situated  almost  at 
the  base  of  Agua.  In  1776,  however,  a  terrific 
earthquake  shook  the  city  to  its  foundations,  de- 
stroying it  so  utterly  that  by  order  of  the  government 
the  capital  was  transferred  to  Guatemala  City,  and 
Antigua  remains  to  this  day  a  city  of  ruins.  It  is 
comparatively  easy  of  access,  and  I  should  have  liked 
to  visit  it,  but  the  shortness  of  our  stay  would  not 
permit  the  journey. 

Thus,  as  Spanish-American  capitals  go,  Guatemala 
City  is  of  comparatively  recent  origin,  whence  its  ba- 
roque architecture,  its  tawdry  palaces  and  churches. 
But  it  makes  amends  for  these.     The  surrounding 

[253] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

country  is  wholly  delightful,  and  has  always  been 
fittingly  known  as  the  "Paradise  of  the  New  World." 
Its  elevation  above  the  sea  gives  it  a  delicious  climate, 
and  its  picturesque,  if  somewhat  slovenly,  inhabit- 
ants afford  no  end  of  variety. 

The  Plaza  de  Armas,  differing  in  this  respect  from 
those  we  had  seen  in  South  America,  is  ill  kept,  its 
pavement  cracked  and  dirty,  its  trees  dusty  and  neg- 
lected. Two  sides  are  bordered  by  portales  shelter- 
ing the  principal  shops  under  their  arcades.  To  the 
east  rise  the  great  cathedral  and  the  bishop's  palace, 
while  to  the  west  stands  the  Palace,  the  official 
residence  of  President  Cabrera,  who  holds  the  coun- 
try under  his  iron  thumb. 

In  an  automobile  we  toured  the  city  and  its  en- 
virons, first  visiting,  at  the  end  of  a  broad  avenue, 
flanked  by  villas  and  foreign  legations,  the  Hipo- 
dromo,  or  Temple  of  Minerva,  a  modern  edifice  of 
the  Greek  type,  used  for  scholastic  or  athletic  exer- 
cises and  pubhc  gatherings  of  all  sorts,  overlooking 
a  beautiful  ravine  and  a  richly  wooded  country — a 
perfect  tangle  of  tropic  growth. 

In  the  opposite  direction  we  returned  to  the  Cal- 
vario,  or  Pilgrim  Church,  that  I  have  mentioned, 

[254] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 


passed  the  pale-blue  Fortezza,  and  then  followed  the 
Avenida  de  la  Reforma,  a  splendid  boulevard  shaded 
by  quadruple  rows  of  trees,  mostly  pines,  that  fill 
the  air  with  their  aromatic  perfume. 

At  its  far  extremity,  we  enjoyed  a  superb  view  of 


The  Calvario,  Guatemala  City 

Agua  topping  the  rich  fields,  and  then  we  inspected 
the  Museo.  This  contains  a  well-ordered  if  rather 
scant  collection  of  plaster  casts  of  the  Maya  bas- 
reliefs  and  monoliths  from  Quirigua,  Peten,  and  the 
hidden  jungles  of  Yucatan;  modern  historic  souvenirs 
of  the  various  revolutions;  examples  of  native  in- 

[^55] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

dustrles  and  some  fine  specimens  of  animals  and 
birds,  among  the  latter  the  quetzal^  the  national  bird 
of  freedom,  larger  than  a  parrot  and  like  it  contrast- 
ing a  bright-red  breast  and  a  long  green  tail. 


V      .    .     .■ 


Cathedral  Terrace,  Guatemala  City 

The  market  that  morning  and  the  band  concert  that 
afternoon  afforded  an  excellent  opportunity  to  study 
the  women  and  their  gay  attire.  There  were  Guate- 
iualtecans  of  Spanish  origin  in  their  prettiest  Sunday 
raiment,  mestizas  in  soft,  pale-tinted  scarfs,  and,  most 

[25G] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

interesting  of  all  perhaps,  Indian  women,  especially 
those  from  Quezaltenango  and  its  vicinity,  many  of 


A  Marimbero 


whom  are  employed  as  nurse-maids  in  the  capital. 
They  are  small  but  well  formed  and  erect  from  their 

[257] 


PACIFIC   SHORES   FROM  PANAMA 


habit  of  balancing  loads  upon  their  head;  their 
clothes  are  hand-woven  and  enriched  with  lively  and 
varied  patterns;    their  hair  is  plaited  with  flowers, 

and    their   faces 


are   often    dis- 
tinctly comely. 

Among  these 
women  the 
slouchy  soldiers 
wandered ;  a  mal- 
imhero  lugged 
his  heavy  instru- 
j/  ment,  a  sort  of 
xylophone,  upon 
his  back,  and 
boys  peddled  na- 
tive sweetmeats 
stuck    upon    a 


Indian  Women 


stick,  and  can- 
dies fashioned  in  the  semblance  of  men  and  animals. 
As  the  twilight  deepened,  the  cathedral  doors  swung 
open  and  a  crowd  with  lighted  candles  issued  from 
the  main  portal,  accompanying  a  Purisima  or  small, 
doll-like  Virgin,  such  as  one  commonly  sees  in  Mex- 

[258] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

ico,  overdressed  in  brocades  and  laces,  and  so  decked 
with  jewels  and  ornaments  that  nothing  but  its  di- 
minutive waxen  face  was  visible. 

We  took  the  early  train  for  the  lowlands,  planning 
to  spend  the  entire  day  en  route,  reaching  Retalhuleu 
at  six  to  spend  the  night,  and  the  following  morning 
we  were  to  proceed  to  Champerico  to  meet  our 
steamer.  Though  the  distance  from  Retalhuleu  to 
the  coast  is  but  twenty-five  miles,  only  three  trains 
a  week  make  the  connection. 

The  trip  through  the  jungle  I  shall  not  soon  forget, 
both  for  the  beauty  of  the  long  ride  and  for  the  ad- 
venture that  closed  it. 

The  road  from  Guatemala  City  as  far  as  Escuintla 
was  a  repetition  of  our  ascent  from  the  coast,  but  for 
the  fact  that,  upon  the  downward  journey,  Agua 
stood  revealed  in  all  its  majesty,  rearing  its  perfect 
cone,  sharp  and  regular,  more  than  twelve  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea.  Behind  it  towered  its  two  neigh- 
bours, even  greater  in  height  though  more  distant, 
Fuego  and  Acatenango,  volcanoes  also,  cutting  their 
sharp  silhouettes  against  a  cloudless  sky — forming 
the  great  trinity  that  decorates  the  country's  coat- 
of-arms. 

[259] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

We  had  an  early  luncheon  in  the  station  at  Es- 
cuintla,  luckily,  from  what  followed,  an  excellent 
repast  graced  with  the  finest  avocado  pears  I  have 
ever  tasted. 

At  Santa  Maria  Junction  the  train  left  the  road  to 
the  coast,  turning  aside  upon  what  will  some  day  be 
the  main  line  of  the  Pan-American  Railway  that 
eventually  will  connect  the  cities  of  the  United  States 
with  Panama  by  rail — a  dream  that  fascinated  the 
mind  of  James  G.  Blaine,  who  was  one  of  its  strongest 
early  advocates.  At  the  present  day  such  large 
portions  of  it  already  exist  that  its  realisation  no 
longer  seems  a  dream  but  a  reality  of  the  not  very 
distant  future. 

The  piece  we  were  now  traversing  has  been  open 
but  a  year  or  two  and  passes  through  a  virgin  jungle, 
affording  a  ride  of  rare  novelty  and  charm.  You 
plunge  almost  instantly  into  a  tropical  forest  whose 
moist,  heavy  atmosphere  is  as  steamy  as  that  of  a 
hothouse.  Its  giant  trees  are  hung  with  vines  and 
snake-like  creepers  and  bound  about  by  the  iron 
thongs  of  the  lignum-vitse.  Orchids  balance  them- 
selves upon  the  twisted  limbs,  and  royal  palms  rear 
their  column-like  trunks  among  the  thick  underbrush. 

[2G0] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

At  each  station  rough-looking  peons  left  the 
second-class  coaches  to  work  on  the  fincas,  or  planta- 
tions, all  their  worldly  possessions  in  packs  upon  their 
backs.  Their  foremen  and  their  employers,  the 
haciendados,  go  about  armed  to  the  teeth,  looking 
like  walking  arsenals,  with  their  cartridge-belts,  their 
pistols,  and  their  long,  ugly  knives. 

Our  train  conductor  was  an  American,  whose  won- 
derful gold  teeth  proclaimed  that  fact  to  all  the 
world.  He  had  lived,  I  think  he  said,  for  twenty 
years  along  this  Guatemala  Central  Railroad,  and 
he  retailed  to  us  all  the  gossip  of  the  road,  pointing 
out  the  big  sugar  estates,  the  mahogany  logs  at 
Buena  Vista,  the  rubber-trees,  and,  later  on,  the 
coffee  plantations  sheltered  from  the  sun  by  the  leaf- 
age of  the  jungle.  He  told  us,  too,  where  to  get  the 
best  pineapples  (most  refreshing  upon  a  journey  like 
this),  and  we  bought,  by  his  advice,  nine  of  them  for 
twenty-seven  reales,  or  seven  cents  gold,  and  cocoa- 
nuts  at  about  a  cent  and  a  half  apiece. 

The  native  villages  were  a  source  of  constant  in- 
terest, with  their  bamboo  huts  thatched  with  palm 
leaves,  their  primitive  outdoor  kitchens,  where  we 
saw  armadillos  roasted  whole  like  Chinese  sucking 

[261] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

pigs.  Children  played  about  as  nature  made  them; 
the  men,  especially  toward  Patulul,  were  clad  only 
in  richly  coloured  breech-cloths  that  harmonised  per- 


Hvts  in  the  Jungle 


fectly  with  their  warm  brown  skins,  and  the  women 
were  washing  half  nude  in  the  streams. 

River  after  river,  rippling  over  pebbly  beds,  ran 
from  the  mountains  to  the  sea,  and  one  after  another 
we  crossed  them:  the  various  branches  of  the  Coyo- 
lata,  the  two  main  forks  of  the  Madre  Viejo,  the 
Nahualate,  the  Nima,  and  the  lean.  Their  presence 
explained  the  fertility  of  the  region  and  the  rich 

[262] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

verdure  of  the  country,  despite  the  fact  that  we  were 
at  the  end  of  the  long  dry  season,  when  one  would 
naturally  expect  to  see  the  land  seared  and  scorched 
by  the  sun,  ardently  awaiting  the  rain. 

At  Mazatenango  we  lost  a  passenger  who  had 
greatly  interested  us — a  beautiful  mestiza,  upon 
whose  shoulders  two  green  parakeets  had  perched 
all  day.  It  was  now  nearly  five  o'clock,  and  only  an 
hour's  ride  separated  us  from  our  destination  for  the 
night.  During  this  last  portion  of  the  trip  we  passed 
through  extensive  coSeefincas  that  form  the  principal 
source  of  wealth  of  the  region,  arriving  at  Retalhuleu 
just  on  time. 

Lucky  for  us  that  we  did  so. 

I  have  spoken  of  Guatemala's  despotic  president, 
Cabrera.  We  had  had  instances  before  of  the  close 
watch  that  is  kept  by  his  oflScials  on  every  stranger 
and  every  citizen,  for  our  names  had  been  taken  each 
time  we  passed  in  or  out  of  a  railroad  station  or 
entered  a  hotel.  Here,  at  Retalhuleu,  the  officials 
advanced  again  for  these  formalities,  and  when  I  had 
signed  my  name  I  was  surprised  to  see  them  exchange 
a  look,  and  one  of  them  handed  me  two  telegrams. 
Both  were  from  the  captain  of  our  ship,  urging  us  to 

[263] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

hire  a  special  train  and  get  to  Champerico  at  once, 
as  he  sailed  at  eight  o'clock  that  evening. 

What  visions  his  telegram  evoked !  In  fancy  I  saw 
us  stranded  for  ten  days  in  this  desolate  port  with 
nothing  but  our  hand-luggage;  I  saw  our  tickets  for 
the  voyage  reposing,  with  our  other  possessions,  in 
the  purser's  safe;  I  saw  us  following  forlornly  by  the 
next  steamer,  which  was  the  worst  boat  on  the  line. 

So,  without  losing  a  single  moment,  I  interviewed 
the  station-master,  he  called  up  the  central  office  in 
Guatemala  City,  catching  the  officials  just  before 
they  left  for  the  night,  and  I  watched  the  reply 
slowly  tick  from  the  telegraphic  instrument — the 
order  for  a  special  at  what  looked  like  a  ruinous 
figure  until  it  was  divided  into  American  dollars. 
The  only  car  that  they  could  find  available  was  a 
second-class  coach,  and  in  twenty  minutes  after  our 
arrival  an  engine  was  attached  to  it,  a  dim,  smoky 
lamp  was  lighted  in  one  of  its  corners,  and  we  started 
off,  dinnerless,  in  the  night. 

What  a  wild  ride  it  was!  The  locomotive  snorted 
like  a  raging  monster  at  the  very  door  of  our  coach, 
that  rocked  from  side  to  side  like  an  unballasted  ship 
upon  the  shaky  rails;  the  lamp  spluttered  and  smoked 

[264] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

and  threatened  every  instant  to  fall  from  its  fixture 
and  smash  upon  the  floor. 

The  lights  of  native  huts  (for  it  was  still  early  in 
the  evening)  flashed  by  in  the  darkness.  Anxious 
faces  peered  through  the  windows  as  we  slowed  down 
at  the  few  stations.  Such  a  thing  as  a  train  at  night 
was  unknown  upon  this  road,  that,  as  I  have  said, 
operates  but  three  trains  a  week  in  each  direction, 
and  these  only  in  broad  daylight.  Our  whistle 
shrieked  as  we  sped  along,  and  at  last,  in  record  time, 
we  pulled  into  the  station  at  Champerico. 

I  think  the  whole  town  was  there  to  meet  us.  I 
know  the  entire  garrison  was,  barefooted  doubtless, 
but  with  fixed  bayonets,  prepared  to  quell  any  revo- 
lution that  might  emerge  from  this  lone  coach. 
Their  anxiety  faded,  but  their  curiosity  was  evidently 
increased,  when  they  beheld  only  two  mild-mannered 
persons  step  out.  Guessing  our  object,  they  called 
repeatedly:  "You  cannot  embark;  you  cannot  em- 
bark." However,  the  port  agent  met  us,  some  natives 
took  up  our  luggage,  and  we  stumbled  along  over  the 
railroad  tracks  and  switches  in  the  direction  of  the 
mole. 

The  captain  of  the  port  had  been  forewarned,  for 

[265] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

nothing  short  of  the  President's  permission  had  been 
necessary  to  enable  us  to  leave  the  country  after 
nightfall.  So,  as  he  expressed  it,  "in  honour  of  the 
lady,"  he  came  himself  with  his  small  court,  all  dressed 
in  white,  to  take  us  to  the  bodega  on  the  end  of  the 
mole.  Four  boatmen,  also  in  white,  were  waiting 
there,  and  the  captain's  big  chaloupa  was  in  readiness 
to  be  swung  out  and  down  into  the  long  Pacific  roll- 
ers which  fortunately  were  exceptionally  quiet  that 
evening.  The  boat  was  duly  launched,  my  wife  was 
put  into  a  sort  of  barrel-chair,  and  at  the  end  of  a 
crane  was  swung  out  into  the  darkness  and  care- 
fully lowered  into  the  waiting  boat,  then  I  was  sent 
down  in  the  same  manner. 

The  ship's  lights  twinkled  in  the  distance,  shut  out 
at  times  by  a  long  black  wave-wall  that  disappeared 
as  quickly  as  it  came.  We  seemed  to  float  upon  a 
moving  black  void  with  silvery  phosphorescence  all 
about  and  dripping  from  the  oars.  Once  out  of  the 
ground-swell,  however,  we  glided  peacefully  along 
toward  the  ship's  golden  lamps  that  beckoned  us  like 
the  hospitable  hghts  of  some  large  hotel. 

We  met  the  purser's  boat  coming  ashore  to  see 
how  we  were  faring,  and  then  we  knew,  what  we 

[  2()G  ] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

had  already  guessed,  the  reason  for  the  change  of 
plans  that  had  necessitated  this  brusque  departure — 
namely,  that  in  this  calm  weather  the  steel  rails  for 
Champerico  had  rained  into  the  lighters  in  double- 
quick  time,  and  the  ship  was  ready  for  departure 
Monday  night  instead  of  Tuesday  morning. 

On  awaking  next  day  we  found  ourselves  anchored 
off  Ocos,  the  last  port  of  call  in  Guatemala.  Only  a 
mile  or  two  to  the  north  lay  the  Mexican  border. 
Nothing  tempted  us  to  go  ashore  at  this  forlorn  port, 
and  indeed  we  were  quite  well  pleased,  after  the  past 
three  days'  activities,  to  sit  quietly  in  our  steamer- 
chairs  upon  the  open  deck  and  watch  the  lighters 
filled  w^ith  sacks  of  coffee  come  one  after  the  other 
out  through  the  surf,  whose  breakers  they  breasted 
by  an  ingenious  system  of  cables  attached  to  buoys, 
giving  their  signals  to  the  men  in  charge  of  the  don- 
key-engine ashore  by  means  of  black  and  white  flags. 

Toward  night  great  clouds  gathered  about  the 
mountains  inland  and  the  lightning  flashed  dull 
silver  in  the  deepening  gloom.  The  stars  disappeared 
one  by  one;  a  high  wind  arose;  big  warm  splashes  of 
rain  pattered  on  the  deck,  and  before  we  knew  it  a 
chuvasco — one   of   those  great  tropical  storms  that 

[  267  ] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

come  so  quickly  in  these  latitudes — was  let  loose 
about  us.  In  a  moment  floods  of  water  swept  the 
ship  from  stem  to  stern.  But  all  was  over  as  quickly 
as  it  came,  and  in  a  few  hours  the  stars  twinkled 
again  overhead. 


[268] 


Ill 

COAST  TOWNS  OF  MEXICO 

^T  eleven  o'clock  next  morning  the  two  thou- 

Zjk  sand  sacks  of  coffee  were  all  aboard  and  we 
-^     -^  said  good-bye  to  Guatemala. 

A  little  later  we  passed  the  first  port  in  Mexico, 
San  Benito,  marked  by  a  warehouse  or  two  upon  the 
shore.  The  long,  low  thread  of  coast  continued  to 
unroll  itself  all  the  afternoon,  with  now  and  then  a 
faint,  blue  mountain  form  dimly  seen  hiding  its  head 
in  thunder-clouds.  We  passed  two  steamers — a  rare 
event  upon  this  silent  sea. 

Before  dawn  next  day  we  heard  the  high  wind 
whistling  about  our  cabin,  the  trades  that  alw^ays 
blow  in  the  Gulf  of  Tehuantepec.     After  breakfast 

[269] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

we  anchored  in  the  outer  bay  of  Salina  Cruz,  and 
came  up  to  the  dock  soon  after,  watching  with  in- 
terest, as  we  did  so,  the  crowd  of  Mexican  carga- 
dores,  in  white  jeans  and  the  national  peaked  hats, 
preparing  to  unload  our  cargo.  This  was  the  first 
time  we  had  been  alongside  a  dock  since  we  left 
Balboa,  and  was  to  be  the  last  until  we  arrived  in 
San  Francisco. 

Each  town  along  this  coast  seems  to  have  a 
physiognomy  all  its  own.  Some  are  but  a  collection 
of  tropical  shacks  shaded  by  cocoanut  palms;  others 
have  a  prosperous  air  displayed  in  their  mountains 
of  coffee-sacks  and  bags  of  sugar;  others  again  wear 
an  ugly  face  devoid  even  of  the  interest  of  character. 
Salina  Cruz  is  certainly  one  of  these,  for  no  element 
of  beauty  can  be  found  in  its  windy,  sand-swept 
streets.  But  she  has  dressed  her  unattractive  face 
in  very  neat  and  business-like  clothes — her  excellent 
wharves  and  docks,  built  by  a  great  English  corpora- 
tion, equipped  with  all  the  modern  machinery  and 
appliances  that  are  lacking  even  in  some  of  our  most 
up-to-date  American  ports.  Electric  cranes,  running 
easily  on  tracks,  swing  their  giant  arms  in  air,  lift- 
ing from  the  ships'  holds  great  handfuls  of  bales  and 

[270] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 


boxes  and  emptying  them  directly,  as  the  case  may 
be,  either  into  freight  cars  standing  ready  to  take 
them  across  the  Isthmus  to  the  Gulf  or  into  solid 
warehouses   ranged   along   the   quay.      Salina   Cruz 


'*.  t     t     ^'t  X  ^  ft  \^  D 


ri^   ~^r^  «i 


A  Bullock  Wagon,  Salina  Cruz 

was  the  proposed  western  terminus  of  the  famous 
ship  railway  so  much  discussed  some  years  ago  as 
the  only  possible  solution  of  the  canal  problem. 

Whether  this  Tehuantepec  Railway,  with  its  trans- 
shipments, will  be  able  to  compete  with  the  direct 

[271  ] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

route  of  the  Panama  Canal  is  the  question  one  natu- 
rally asks  one's  self.  The  town  of  Tehuantepec, 
which  gives  its  name  to  the  Isthmus,  lies  about 
twenty  miles  inland,  and  is  famous  for  the  beauty 
and  the  curious  national  dress  of  its  women.  To 
judge  from  those  we  saw  in  Salina  Cruz,  I  should 
say  they  justify  their  reputation. 

We  sailed  early  Friday  morning  and  headed  up 
the  Mexican  coast.  The  sea  was  alive  with  turtles, 
gleaming  like  great  topazes  upon  the  calm  blue 
waters. 

What  a  change  in  the  shore-line  from  the  softly 
wooded  hills  of  Guatemala!  All  was  bleak  and  arid, 
rugged  and  firmly  modelled.  Low  headlands  thrust 
themselves  into  the  sea,  girt  with  jagged  rocks  and 
clothed  with  dry  underbrush,  and  great  clusters  of 
the  organ  cactus  reared  their  bright-green  fingers 
straight  toward  heaven.  At  other  times  long  white 
lines  of  sand  skirted  with  foliage  connected  these 
headlands,  and  once  in  a  while  a  broad  verdant 
valley  opened  and  a  wreath  of  blue  smoke  proclaimed 
a  human  presence.  One  of  these  valleys  stretched 
its  mouth  so  wide  that  we  coasted  for  about  half  an 
hour  along  its  unbroken  beach,  walled  with  cocoanut 

[  272  ] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

palms  and  backed  by  densely  wooded  hills,  rising 
one  behind  another,  fold  after  fold,  peering  over  each 
other,  as  it  were,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  sea,  while 
the  mother  range — the  Sierra  Madre — looked  calmly 
down  upon  her  children  from  her  cool  ethereal  heights. 

Then  the  coast  receded  until  it  almost  disappeared 
from  view,  then  protruded  again  far  out  into  the  sea 
until  we  seemed  to  be  heading  directly  for  its  yellow 
cliffs.  No  opening  appeared  until  we  came  quite 
close,  when,  of  a  sudden,  a  narrow  passage  split  the 
cliffs  and  we  entered  a  landlocked  harbor,  the  love- 
liest on  all  this  coast. 

What  memories  cling  about  this  bay  of  Acapulco, 
as  perfect  in  form  as  any  saucer,  with  but  a  single 
chip  in  all  its  rim,  that  of  the  narrow  boca  that 
admits  ships  from  the  sea!  Purple  hills  enclose  it; 
groves  of  cocoanut  palms  skirt  its  shores;  native 
huts  lie  cool  in  the  shadows  of  the  woods,  and  over 
to  the  northward  the  old  town  of  Acapulco  spreads 
itself  upon  a  hill-slope  behind  its  ancient  Spanish 
fortress. 

What  pictures  it  has  beheld!  The  dromonds  and 
the  galliases  from  Panama,  with  the  merchants  of 
Spain  and  the  traders  from  the  vice-royalty  of  Peru, 

[273  ] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

assembled  to  buy  the  silks  and  porcelains  from  China 
and  the  spices  from  the  Indies;  the  nobles  and  their 
caravans  from  Mexico  City  just  across  the  moun- 
tains, even  at  times  the  viceroy  himself,  come  to 
welcome  the  King's  ship— the  great  galleon  that 
once  a  year  arrived  from  Manila  freighted  with  the 
treasures  of  the  Orient,  its  sails  gay  with  painted 
images,  its  waist  bristling  with  cannon,  its  rigging 
hung  with  ollas^  earthen  jars,  to  catch  and  cool  the 
rain-water  upon  its  lengthy  voyage. 

During  the  old  regime  Acapulco  was  the  chief  port 
upon  the  Pacific  for  the  East-Indian  trade,  and  this 
great  galleon,  commanded  by  a  general  who  flew  the 
royal  standard  at  his  masthead,  left  each  year  for 
the  Philippines  in  March,  returning  the  following 
December  or  January. 

Bret  Harte  has  founded  one  of  his  most  important 
poems  upon  this  event,  a  curious  legend  beginning 
thus : 

"In  sixteen  hundred  and  forty-one 
The  regular  yearly  galleon, 
Laden  with  odorous  gums  and  spice, 
India  cotton  and  India  rice, 
And  the  richest  silks  of  far  Cathay, 
Was  due  at  Acapulco  Bay." 

[274] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

This  "Lost  Galleon"  never  arrived  for  a  very 
peculiar  reason,  and  he  concludes  his  account  of  its 
ill-fated  voyage  with  the  following  prophecy  of  the 
Holy  Brotherhood:  that  in  1939,  just  three  hundred 
years  from  the  date  it  was  due, 

"The  folk  in  Acapulco  town. 
Over  the  waters  looking  down, 
Will  see  in  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun 
The  sails  of  the  missing  galleon 
And  the  royal  standard  of  Philip  Rey, 
The  gleaming  mast  and  the  glistening  spar. 
As  she  nears  the  reef  of  the  outer  bar." 

If  this  prophecy  is  fulfilled,  her  captain-general, 
upon  his  return,  will  not  find  the  old  town  greatly 
changed,  for  to-day  its  buildings  still  echo  the  His- 
panic taste  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Its  old 
fortress  of  San  Diego  still  bristles  with  antiquated 
artillery,  the  old  craft  of  its  harbour  are  primitive, 
and  its  shiftless  people,  cut  off  from  all  communica- 
tion with  the  outside  world,  fill  in  the  foreground  of 
the  picture  in  quite  an  appropriate  manner.  But  he 
will  rub  his  eyes  in  bewilderment  when  he  reads  the 
name,  to  him  meaningless,  of  the  boats  that  come  to 
ferry  one  ashore:  the  New  York,  the  Maryland,  the 
George  Washington,  and  the  Flying-Fish. 

[275] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

We  chose  the  first  named,  and  soon  were  landing  at 
the  custom-house,  which  you  Hterally  "pass  through" 
to  leave  the  landing-stage,  and  found  ourselves  in  the 
main  plaza,  set  out  with  fine  mango-trees.    The  after- 


S'^ 


mv^--^  P" 


^  ^t,  in, 


-r  #11  fillip* 


Its  Streets  of  Dazzling  Colonnades 

noon  was  all  too  short  for  this  picturesque  old  town, 
with  its  streets  and  dazzling  colonnades,  its  cool  por- 
ticos, its  markets  and  shops  filled  with  a  bright 
jumble  of  pottery  and  ponchos,  woven  baskets  and 
tropical  fruits. 

[276] 


Marlcet  Square,  Acapulco 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

We  sketched  and  visited  the  agency  and  the  con- 
sulate, occupying  two  of  the  most  pretentious  houses 
in  the  town,  both  typically  Spanish,  with  patios  and 


( 


li-^'l 


^S^vS'y      '\'5?>i^.l^ 


^•'"^^'-.ilM 


An  Outlying  Street,  Acajpulco 


great  airy  chambers  whose  windows  are  barred  with 
solid  rejas  strong  enough  for  a  prison. 

At  sundown  we  were  towed  in  the  agent's  boat  to 
our  ship,  which  had  meanwhile  gone  across  the  bay 

[277] 


PACIFIC   SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

to  coal.  The  evening  was  delightful,  the  air  balmy 
yet  refreshing,  and  the  calm  bay,  landlocked,  with 
but  its  single  exit  to  the  sea,  spread  its  opalescent 
waters  to  catch  the  sky  reflections— pink,  green, 
lavender,  and  mauve.  The  American  consul  had 
come  out  with  us — a  distinguished-looking  man  with 
a  young  face  and  snow-white  hair — and  he  and  the 
agent  dined  at  the  captain's  table,  and  we  all  spent 
the  evening  together  up  under  the  bridge  by  the 
captain's  cabin. 

The  coal-barges  lay  alongside,  and  in  the  fitful  light 
of  electric  reflectors  we  could  see  the  passers,  a  motley 
crew,  half  naked,  grimy,  black  by  nature  or  by  dust, 
one  could  not  tell  which,  shovelling  the  coal  like 
demons,  in  the  weird  night  light. 

Our  next  Mexican  port  was  Manzanillo,  whose 
lighthouse,  perched  upon  a  bluff,  was  the  first  that  we 
had  remarked  on  all  the  coast.  We  ran  in  close  under 
it,  swung  into  a  wide  and  beautiful  gulf,  and  anchored 
behind  a  fine,  new  breakwater,  where  lies  the  little 
town,  the  western  terminal  of  one  of  the  Mexican 
railways,  straggling  along  a  sand-bar.  We  went 
ashore  on  principle,  but  found  little  to  interest  us 
except  some  pretty  jucgos,  or  sets  of  Guadalajara 

[278] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

pottery — bottle,  plate,  and  drinking-cup,  made  to 
match.  The  town  is  dirty  and  unattractive,  the 
country  dry  and  desolate. 

There  remained  but  one  more  port  of  call,  San 
Bias,  and  a  tiny  pearl  of  the  tropics  it  is,  set  in  shores 


^^'^^k^^-^ 


Manzanillo  Bay 


of  vivid  green  and  groves  of  palm-trees.  We  cast 
anchor  a  mile  or  two  offshore,  near  a  British  gun- 
boat, and  immediately  a  boat  put  off  from  her  and  one 
of  her  officers  came  to  call  upon  our  captain.  What 
a  trim  boat's  crew  it  was — how  spick  and  span  their 
uniforms,  how  well  fed,  how  ruddy  their  complexions 

[279] 


PACIFIC   SHORES   FROM  PANAMA 

under  their  cork  helmets  after  the  sallow  skins  of 
the  Central  Americans  we  had  been  seeing! 

Our  steamer  had  two  thousand  bunches  of  bananas 
to  take  aboard,  so  we  went  ashore  for  the  afternoon 


A  Tiny  Pearl  of  the  Tropics 


in  a  big  surf -boat,  riding  the  breakers  to  shelter  behind 
a  primitive  breakwater.  Here  we  found  ourselves  in 
a  calm  lagoon,  broken  by  numerous  sand-spits  and 
stretching  off  into  bayous  of  rich  tropical  vegetation. 

[280] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 


Sturdy  cargadores  were  loading  big  lighters  with  ba- 
nanas and  dried  fish,  and  beyond  we  could  see  the  first 
bamboo  huts  of  the  village  roofed  with  palm-leaves. 

t 


f; 


^yo:j  ||«  1 


mim  m^mmmm. 


ir 


■^ 


V 


.   «  « .r.  ^p\ . 


Old  Church,  San  Bias 


A  few  Mexican  buildings  were  mingled  with  them, 
but  they  recalled  the  Moor,  rather  than  the  Spaniard, 
with  their  blank  walls,  their  roof  terraces,  and  pink 

[281] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

arcades.  There  was  little  to  do  but  peep  into  the 
native  huts  like  those  of  South  Sea  Islanders,  drink 
cocoanut  milk,  visit  the  market,  where  we  were  offered 
a  whole  bunch  of  bananas  for  fifteen  cents  gold,  and 
then  wander  down  to  the  beach,  where  the  natives 
were  swimming,  riding  the  surf  on  boards  like 
Kanakas  and  having  a  splendid  time.  This  quiet 
afternoon  was  altogether  a  charming  farewell  to  the 
tropics.  Even  the  sunset,  as  we  returned  to  the  ship, 
was  suflSciently  lurid  and  full  of  colour  to  meet  the 
requirements  of  the  occasion,  and  as  we  stood  out 
for  the  open  sea  it  was  with  deep  regret  that  we  said 
good-bye  to  the  heat  and  discomfort,  the  glamour 
and  charm,  of  the  southern  seas. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  romance  of  those  nights  at 
sea — the  long  talks  with  our  captain  up  under  the 
bridge,  his  lines  from  Kiphng's  "Seven  Seas,"  the 
stars  that  twinkled  their  thousand  eyes  overhead, 
and  the  great  calm  Pacific  that  stretched  to  infinity, 
its  broad  bosom  faintly  heaving  in  its  slumberous 
breathing. 

After  leaving  San  Bias  we  cut  across  the  mouth  of 
the  Gulf  of  California,  and  toward  sundown  rounded 
the  southern  extremity  of  Cape  St.  Lucas.     That 

[282] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

night  we  crossed  the  tropic  of  Cancer.  The  Southern 
Cross,  that  had  so  long  guided  us,  disappeared  from 
the  firmament,  the  North  Star  stood  high  in  the 
heavens,  and  in  the  morning  when  we  arose  a  brac- 
ing north  wind  greeted  us. 


Loading  Barges,  San  Bias 


The  officers  appeared  dressed  in  navy  blue  instead 
of  the  white  of  the  tropics.  Activity  and  energy 
developed  in  the  crew.  Even  the  passengers  awoke 
from  their  drowsiness,  threw  off  the  lethargy  of  the 
steamer-chairs,  and  took  long  walks  forward  and  aft. 
Lower  California  unrolled  its  naked  headlands,  the 
great  bluffs  of  Magdalena  Bay  arose  along  the  sea. 
Sometimes  the  coast  was  low  and  sandy;  sometimes 

[283] 


PACIFIC  SHORES  FROM  PANAMA 

table-lands  stretched  flat  for  miles,  as  if  their  tops  had 
been  lopped  off  by  giant  machetes;  sometimes  high 
and  wicked  cliffs  lifted  their  walls  along  the  shore, 
scarred  and  seamed,  with  the  surf  pounding  along 
their  feet.  Many  a  good  ship  has  foundered  on  this 
wild  coast,  with  no  lights,  even  to-day,  to  guide  them 
in  the  night,  with  no  siren  to  warn  them  in  the  fog, 
their  ribs  mouldering  along  the  treacherous  rock- 
bound  shore. 

Beyond  Cape  San  Rocco  and  Cedro  Island  we 
passed  the  deep  curve  of  Viscaino's  Bay,  and  followed 
the  course  of  that  intrepid  navigator,  until  one  morn- 
ing— the  fourth,  I  think,  from  San  Bias — the  peak  of 
Catalina  Island  rose  above  our  port  bow.  Shoals  of 
flying-fish  frolicked  in  the  water  and,  as  the  land 
drew  nearer,  fishing-smacks  skimmed  over  the  danc- 
ing waves,  their  sails  bellying  in  the  fresh  westerly 
trades. 

After  the  inhospitable  coast  of  Lower  California, 
our  own  shores  looked  verdant  and  animated.  At 
night  an  unbroken  chain  of  lighthouses  guided  our 
course.  By  day  the  great  cliffs  that  skirt  the  sea 
frowned  down  upon  us. 

And  then  one  morning,  with  the  earliest  dawn,  the 

[284] 


THE  ISTHMUS  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

twinkling  beam  of  San  Benito's  lighthouse  lured 
us  on,  and  the  faint  silhouette  of  the  Farallones  rose 
to  the  westward.  We  changed  our  course,  coasting 
close  in  under  the  cliffs,  and  as  the  sun  rose  behind 
the  Contra  Costa  hills,  flooding  the  headlands  with 
the  glory  of  its  effulgence,  we  entered  the  Golden 
Gate,  and  the  broad  waters  of  the  bay  of  San  Fran- 
cisco opened  their  arms  to  us. 


[285] 


TilE  LIBRARY 

UNIVEBoITY  OV  '^MTFORNU 
LOS  Als'e 


[PaulEJderC 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBR/^v 
Los  Angeles 


firntit  «;,ofro  rD«/;n,o/ ■-^'■" ••■••••  •■■--•••-'«■■•'■-••■'•'•- "^ 


V^v^o^v/- 


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':ifV.?.'-'?o!;=iill 


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..:i''.'?.'.'--.';'f''V,'..>Ji 


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